


The Come and Go Room

by TheRedWave



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Drama, Eventual Romance, F/M, Happily Ever After, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:35:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 125,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26873029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedWave/pseuds/TheRedWave
Summary: “It’s the Come and Go Room, Lucius. It gives people what they need.”He nodded his head slowly, and reached out to touch the great crimson curtains on the bed. When they did not disappear under his fingers, he frowned.“And why are you here, Hermione Granger?”“Probably because we need each other.”***A post-Battle of Hogwarts, adult Hermione/Lucius fic in which Hermione returns to Hogwarts as Charms Professor. Lots of fluff/filler chapters but also has an overall arc. Slow burn but hopefully worth the wait.
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Hannah Abbott/Neville Longbottom, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Lucius Malfoy
Comments: 535
Kudos: 223





	1. There's No Place Like Hogwarts

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, thank the gods. 
> 
> I've been working on this fic for months. It's still not perfect, but I just love, love, love this pairing, and I figured I might as well just post the first chapter. 
> 
> I have been lucky enough to have JessariOfErebor as my editor. She has polished this fic, believed in it, put a ridiculous amount of work into it, supported it, and has made it possible for me to actually post it. Thank you very, very much!
> 
> Happy reading!

Hermione read the job offer in the paper again and again, smiling as she did. No matter how many times she poured over it, the words remained the same. Professor Flitwick had finally retired and Hogwarts was looking for a Charms Professor to replace him.

This was perfect. She had thought of teaching for years. In fact, she had always considered it a natural thing that she should become a Hogwarts Professor one day. The chance to pass on her skills to the next generation, to shape those who would come after her, and hone her natural academic abilities, all in one career? And Hogwarts would always be her home, as it was for so many of them. 

The timing had never been right, though. An opportunity for Potions Professor had come up only a year or two ago and she had given it serious consideration, but she had simply had too much to deal with. The breakup with Ron had been a drawn out, depressing thing that had ended up causing serious strain to many of her friendships. And she had always had another book she wanted to publish. Another experiment to perform. 

But now, she found with real glee, there was nothing holding her back. She didn’t want to be arrogant about it, but she really was perfect for the job. Charms was one of her strong suits and always had been. She had the skills, the experience, and she felt very sure that Headmistress McGonagall would not turn her away. 

Already thinking of lesson plans and how on _earth_ she was going to live up to Flitwick’s standards, she started working on her expression of interest. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Minerva wrote back with her acceptance quickly. _Very_ quickly. Had she been waiting for Hermione to apply? She wouldn’t put anything past the Headmistress. 

The next few months went by in a flurry of preparation. Organising the coursework, of course, took up the bulk of her time. The teachers of Hogwarts had a lot of free reign over their material, which was fantastic, but it meant that she had to start nearly from scratch. This was not such a bad thing. It meant she could adjust the course depending on the capabilities of her students, as long as they could pass their exams at the end. 

She told everyone the news only weeks before the start of term. She hadn’t exactly meant to keep things a secret, but she had just been so busy. Everyone was thrilled for her. Except for her publisher, who pleaded, bargained, and finally tantrumed. It didn’t do her any good; Hermione had made her mind up. She was doing this. The next stage of her career, of her life, was about to begin. 

The day finally came. September 1st. On a whim, Hermione caught the train. She was given her own carriage and spent the trip looking out the window. Crookshanks’ basket sat on her lap. Every now and then, a plaintive meow would emerge from within; Crookshanks promising to be good if only she would let him out. On the seat across from her, Atlas brooded in his cage. Her owl was not happy. Hermione had had the cage made specially for him and she knew it was big enough. The eagle owl was sulking because he wanted to be the one on Hermione’s lap. Unfortunately, Atlas was clever enough to have every magical booksellers shop in Britain memorised, but he simply could not wrap his head around how big Hermione’s lap was in comparison to his immense, gilded cage. Crookshanks started purring in a smug sort of way. 

The journey was a pleasant one. When she wasn’t telling Atlas and Crookshanks off, she spent the time remembering all the years of trolley lunches and friendship with Ron and Harry. The memories didn’t make her feel sad, as she had thought they might. When she’d first caught the train, she’d had no idea how amazing and special Hogwarts would be. She had been frightened, and more shy than she had let on, but she’d taken the leap of faith anyway. When the nerves rose up at the thought of all the challenges that would surely lay ahead of her, she remembered that, and things didn’t seem quite so intimidating after all. 

She collected her things and got ready to disembark. Thank god she didn’t have to hide anymore. King’s Cross has been a _nightmare._ As it was, with so much luggage she had no choice but to levitate her suitcase. 

Children surrounded her on all sides as they got off the train. Some were tiny, and Hermione had to remember that she had been that small herself, once. Others towered above her, looking very serious and gangly in their robes. Regardless of their age, whenever someone spotted her and realised who she was, she would be treated to a chorus of yelps and squeals, and the strange head-bobs of people not used to the gesture. 

Crookshanks made a grumbling meow as if to say, _Mum, are we there yet?_ Atlas abandoned his usual pastime of glaring at Crookshanks in favour of glaring at all the other owls instead. Hermione shushed the pair of them. Honestly. She couldn’t take them anywhere. 

In the end she had to separate herself from the crowd and start walking up towards the school, otherwise they would never have gotten anywhere. The hordes of children followed in her wake, whispering amongst themselves, and Hermione could only glance over her shoulder, and smile. 

Headmistress McGonagall personally greeted her at the lake with a warm smile and a hug that made Hermione giddy with joy. One of the boats had been set aside for them, and the Headmistress and the new Charms Professor boarded, sailing smoothly across the lake to the school. 

“And you are sure that you are ready to come back to Hogwarts?” Headmistress McGonagall asked, direct as ever. “There would be no shame in having reservations, given everything that happened.”

Hermione took a moment to think about it. She looked fondly over the lake to the magnificent old castle, with its many towers drawing nearer and nearer, the red of the sunset bringing out the warmth and the colour in everything. She took a glance beneath the surface of the lake, and sure enough, the gargantuan form of the squid trailed beneath them, amorphous as ever. 

Above her, the sky shattered into a thousand jewelled pieces as a flock of brightly-plumed birds flew overhead, singing their strange songs, and she felt her blood thrill in her veins. 

Was it possible to feel safe and excited all at once? At ease with herself, and yet desperate to see more, experience more, learn more. It was something that only Hogwarts could make her feel. She had not known how much she had missed the old castle until she laid eyes on it again. 

“It’s as if I never left.” Hermione said honestly. 

The old witch gave a nod as if she understood, though Hermione was not quite sure that she did. 

The two of them had a great deal to catch up on, and the rest of the journey passed in gentle conversation. Harry and Ginny had had a baby; a little girl named Amelia. Luna had found semi-convincing proof that the Crumple Horned Snorlack might really exist, after all. They were still marvelling over this when they reached the caves beneath the school. 

A pair of prefects came to shepherd the children one way, and Hermione and McGonagall went another. The Headmistress, her stride strong despite the cane she leaned on, led her up and up and into the main courtyard, where a dozen or so people patiently awaited them.

Hermione looked down the line of her colleagues as the Headmistress made the introductions. She was glad to see that Sinistra still taught Astronomy. Hermione thought she saw something in the Professor’s eyes that said, _what took you so long_? Hermione shook hands with her warmly. 

Next was Neville. Already her dear friend, he was Herbology Professor and Gryffindor Head of House. His face, not so round any more, shone with happiness at the sight of her. 

At Neville’s side was his grandmother, Augusta Longbottom, who now taught Defense Against the Dark Arts. Hermione was pleased to hear that apparently she had held the post since Hogwarts had reopened; nearly five years. 

The witch had changed substantially since their last meeting. The battle of Hogwarts had taken its toll on her. Her back was stooped and her face was scarred. Warding sigils marked her robes, and Hermione was quietly pleased to see that a normal witch’s hat, rather than a stuffed vulture, adorned her head. Augusta leaned too heavily on her cane for Hermione to feel comfortable risking a handshake, but the witch gave Hermione a respectful nod in welcome. 

An unfamiliar face, who McGonagall introduced as Tiberius Flint, was Head of Ravenclaw House and Arithmancy Professor. He stood tall and dapper in a brown tweed suit. She knew him by name and reputation, if not by sight. Tiberius Flint was a renowned academic, one of the best in the field. Hermione shook his hand firmly, making note to pepper him with questions as soon as she had the time. Even before she had graduated, Arithmancy had always been her favourite subject. 

Next to Professor Flint floated Binns, the eternal History of Magic Professor, and beside him stood Professor Grubbly-Plank, for Care of Magical Creatures and the Head of Hufflepuff House. And of course, for Slytherin Head of House and Potions Professor… 

Lucius Malfoy. All in black and with his serpent-topped cane. McGonagall had warned her about this. She had made it very clear in her letter that if Hermione wanted the job, she would have to accept his place among the staff. It had not been a difficult decision. This was the opportunity she had been waiting for. She wasn’t about to spoil everything in the name of a grudge, no matter how well deserved it was. Besides, she trusted her former Head of House. If Minerva thought Lucius Malfoy didn’t deserve to be here, he wouldn’t be. It was as simple as that. 

The former Death Eater took in her arrival with perfect equanimity. He had not said a word as she was introduced to the rest of the faculty. If not for the little tightening of his face, there would have been no sign that her presence might be concerning for him. 

After greeting the rest of her fellow teachers, it was time. In her most polite voice she said, “Good evening, Professor Malfoy.” She couldn’t quite manage a convincing smile, and abandoned the effort almost immediately. Hopefully that would come with practice. 

Malfoy went completely still. It was strangely satisfying to know that she could surprise him. 

“Good evening, Professor Granger.” He replied, just as carefully and just as politely. 

Professor McGonagall was visibly relieved at this cordial behaviour. Perhaps she had expected that they would sling curses at one another in the courtyard. 

There was no need for the two of them to fight. She had no intentions of saying so much as a word to him, beyond the bare minimum. At the very least, she would be as professional as his behaviour demanded. They weren’t going to work as closely together as they would have if they were Herbology and Potions Professors, or if they were Astrology and Divination Professors, but they would be working together nonetheless.

“Well now,” The Headmistress said, “Now that you have met the faculty properly, perhaps we might get you settled into your rooms?” 

“I know the way, if you have no objections.” Lucius Malfoy said smoothly. 

Hermione couldn’t conceal her surprise. She wanted to refuse, truce or no truce, but carrying this much luggage was no easy task. If the Charms Professor rooms were where she thought they were, she would benefit from a helping hand. 

She nodded her acquiescence. With a flick of his wand, he floated two of her suitcases and she took the animals, Crookshanks’ basket held firmly in her left hand, and levitating Atlas in his cage behind her. 

They walked through the castle in silence for a while. She found that she didn’t really need to think; her feet knew the way. How many times had she run full-pelt to Flitwick’s rooms, terrified that she might have made some minor mistake in an essay that would result in her being held back a year, or worse, her immediate expulsion from the school? Too many to count. But the old Professor had borne it all with an indulgent smile and kind reassurances. Flitwick had been one of her best teachers, and most of them had been very good indeed. He had taught her to trust herself, slowly but surely over many years. She hoped she could do the same thing for her own students. 

“Forgive me if I have put you on the spot.” Lucius Malfoy said. “I only wanted a private word.”

He did not seem to notice that the halls were filled with students. Admittedly; they were all far too lost and flustered to be paying much attention to them, but still. They were far from alone. 

Lucius was looking at her, she realised. Awaiting a response. Trying to gauge her reaction. 

She shifted her grip on the cat basket, trying to remind herself that she had done her best, and if he decided to be really awful, at least it wouldn’t be her fault. “Alright, then.” 

“Thank you.” 

He said nothing further for a while, perhaps gathering his thoughts. 

At last, he continued, “Please understand, Professor Granger, that I take my work here very seriously.”

This was not what she had expected to hear. She had expected, had assumed, that the only thing he would possibly have to say to her would be related to the war, or, perhaps, her blood status. Neither of which she particularly felt would be conducive to any sort of civil conversation between them. 

“I’m glad to hear that.” She replied, feeling quite relieved, but unsure about what this had to do with her. 

The Malfoy patriarch went on, “Hogwarts has become a home to me. I have been treated… fairly, here. I have no intentions of making the Headmistress regret her decision to make me Head of House.”

Automatically, Hermione said, “Hogwarts will always help those who ask for it.”

She couldn’t be totally sure, but she thought she saw his face soften, just a little. “Indeed.” 

They reached her rooms and Crookshanks gave a long, low meow as they came to a stop. Eager to explore, or angry at his confinement? 

“Well, thank you for your help.” And she heartily wished for him to go away. She was pleased with how things had gone, but now she needed some time to herself, and away from him. 

Annoyingly, he chose this moment to say, “Professor Granger, a moment. I have something for you.” 

Lucius Malfoy reached into his robes, and she had to stop herself from acting on the distrust that rose up in her. A moment later, he brought out a box. She stared at it, and her irritation vanished. Somehow, she knew. 

She held out a shaking hand, and took it, opened the lid, and there… 

It was her wand. _Her_ wand. The beloved vine wand that Ollivander had first matched her with. She took it in her hand, and tears sprang to her eyes. Lucius turned away, though whether it was out of embarrassment due to her display of emotion, or to give her privacy, she did not know. Nor did she care. A sense of rightness ran all the way up her hand and into her heart. She was whole.

“I must warn you, Bellatrix performed… certain spells with it. I sent it off to be cleansed, but there may still be… traces.” 

She held the wand to her chest. “What sort of traces?” But she knew exactly what. She had taken Bellatrix’ wand after they had fled the Manor. It had been wrong, fundamentally twisted in a way she had not known wands could be. The witch’s madness might have pervaded her own wand. The thought was sickening. 

If he had sent it off to be cleansed, then perhaps it might be alright. She certainly didn’t feel any negative energy emanating from the wand, but there was one way to be sure. 

Adjusting her grip on the wand, she said, _“Prior Incantato.”_

A silvery light came from the wand, and manifested as a blur. She thought she could see flashes of shapes in it, but there was nothing she could be certain about. And then there was the flash of light, which she knew to be the moment she had defended Harry from Nagini, and ultimately destroyed his wand. 

Lucius gave a satisfied nod at this. 

“Bellatrix only carried it for a short while. The wandmakers assure me that it will be made right again with time.” Lucius seemed skeptical of this, but he shouldn’t have, because it made perfect sense to her. Bellatrix was dead, and any claim that she had over the vinewood wand would have faded enough so that the wand could make its own choice. The wand wanted to be with her again, she knew it for certain. 

Hermione wrenched her eyes from her wand and looked at him. There was an empty little moment, and she saw that they had an opportunity. They could have a conversation about what had happened at the Manor, how he had stood by and done nothing as she had been tortured by his sister-in-law. He could apologise, and she could graciously accept, and wounds that were many years old could begin to heal. They could start off, not from afresh, that would never be possible, but from a place of understanding. Forgiveness, maybe. 

Hermione wasn’t ready for that. All the same, if he had begun she would have tried. But though she could see the same thoughts flitting behind his eyes, he didn’t say it. Before she knew it, the moment passed them by. 

“What about yours?” She asked instead, not just because she wanted to know, but simply because she wanted to fill the silence. 

He started, clearly surprised. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your wand. It was destroyed, wasn’t it? When Voldemort tried to kill Harry.”

A strange look came in his eyes and he said, shortly, “Yes, it was destroyed.” 

“But you got a replacement, didn’t you?”

He flushed, and then went pale as anger overtook his embarrassment. “I would be a poor teacher without a wand, Professor Granger. Of course I have one. But of course, if my word is not good enough for you-”

She floundered. “I didn’t mean it like that! I just mean, it was really awful when I lost mine. It took me months to get used to it, but I did in the end. It’s the abilities of the wizard that matters, not the wand.” Hermione said. “I’ve always thought that.”

This immediately seemed like a very stupid thing to say, when her fingers were curled around her wand like it was the most precious thing in the world. In that moment someone could have offered her the Elder Wand, and she would have refused it without hesitation, she was so pleased to have her original wand back. But returning her wand to her, cleansed so that she didn’t have to see the awful things Bellatrix had done with it, had been a kind thing to do. More than that, it had been the right thing to do, and Hermione was so shocked that he had done it that she found herself prompted to be kind to him. 

If Lucius had seen the hypocrisy in what she had said, he didn’t say so. He was looking at her as if she had sprouted a second head, and she couldn’t really blame him. She shouldn’t be talking to him like this. 

“Thank you.” She said, still holding her wand tightly, as though it might disappear into thin air. Under any other circumstances, the act of thanking Lucius Malfoy would have felt unnatural, repulsive, even, but now she felt that it was hardly enough. 

She waited for him to gloat, to lord it over her. It would have made her feel more at ease, if anything, if he behaved in a way that she could have expected. But it didn’t happen.

Instead, he gave her a simple nod of farewell and left. 

* * *

Hermione unpacked in a daze. Unfortunately she did it the magical way, and so it only took her about forty seconds, which sort of defeated the purpose of the whole thing. She needed something to distract her from the thoughts whirling around her head. She tried to coax Crookshanks out from under her bed. She gave Atlas a general idea of where the Owlery was. He did not seem to need her directions and flew off with a haughty _hoot_ . She went over the lists of her students' names again. She checked, for the hundredth time, that her lesson plan was organised as perfectly as could be. And all this, she did one-handed, because she simply could _not_ bring herself to put down her wand.

So Hermione was very glad when she received a note asking her to come to the Headmistress’ office before the Sorting Ceremony. She supposed she should have expected it. This was going to be her first Sorting Ceremony as a member of the faculty. It was only natural that the Headmistress would want a few words with her before it started. 

She knew all the staircases movements by heart and a few stern words got most of the students moving. It didn’t take her long to reach the office. The gargoyles were so excited to see her that they almost forgot to ask her their riddle. It was a philosophical question and one that she would gladly have spent time over, but she didn’t want to keep the Headmistress waiting on her first day, so she gave them the short answer. They were satisfied. They turned and rose in their place with a grinding of stone upon stone, and the staircase was revealed. 

The moment she stood on the first step she heard McGonagall call out, “Come in, dear.”

Hermione smiled as she came into the circular room, marvelling at how different it was since she’d seen it last. 

The gentle chaos that had characterised the room under Dumbledore had been replaced with consistent organisation. Everything had a purpose. Everything was neatly shut away in cabinets or arranged methodically on the shelves. This was not to say that the Headmistress’ office was not a fascinating place. Hermione could have spent hours studying the spellcraft she saw there. There was a little row of trinkets that transfigured themselves with the regularity of clockwork. Rings into starlings. Necklaces into cockatrices, and so forth. There were priceless books and artefacts that Hermione knew would have made any collector proud, and in one sun-drowned corner, there was an overstuffed cat basket. 

Some things hadn’t changed. The portraits of Headmasters and Mistresses gone by still hung in their places on the walls, though Phineas Black gave her a haughty look and left the moment she walked in.

McGonagall welcomed her as though she was an old friend. This would normally have knocked Hermione off her feet, if the shock of her wand, her true wand, sitting in the pocket of her robes, was not such a powerful distraction. 

McGonagall waved her hand and a plate of biscuits appeared from nowhere. She looked fit to burst with pride. 

“Well done, Miss Granger! That type of inter-house cooperation is _exactly_ the sort of thing this school needs!”

Hermione blinked, and realised that Minerva couldn’t possibly know about the wand, or the words she and Lucius had shared outside her rooms. She must be talking about earlier today, when Hermione had first arrived.

She took a biscuit, knowing there was no point saying she wasn’t hungry. “You mean not starting a fight with Lucius Malfoy in the courtyard?”

“Well, in a manner of speaking.” McGonagall paused thoughtfully. “Do you remember, Miss Granger, my apologies, _Professor_ Granger, how the school first was after… what happened?”

“You mean… when Hogwarts reopened with you as Headmistress? I heard-” Hermione stopped herself. “I heard all sorts of things, but none of them first-hand.”

“I’m afraid to say that most of what you heard is probably true, Professor Granger. Those were some of the most challenging years of my career. Students hexing each other in the corridors, bursting into tears at the mere _sight_ of their classrooms. To say nothing of all the new ghosts, and the portraits.” McGonagall looked down at her teacup and went quiet for a little while. 

“You’ve done an amazing job,” Hermione hurried to say. “Things here seem almost-” 

She couldn’t quite finish it, because it didn’t really seem her place to pass judgement on such an esteemed and celebrated witch. What she had been about to say was, _‘Things here seem almost back to normal’_. But the barrier of admiration still lay between them, and she couldn’t quite get the words out without feeling that she might be making an idiot of herself. 

Still, McGonagall must have read her mind, because she smiled gently and said, “But not quite, are they? Still, we’re making progress. And this brings me to why I asked you to come here-” The Headmistress leaned forward, and Hermione could feel the strength of her will bearing down on her. 

“There’s a position opening up for Gryffindor Head of House, and I want you to take it.”

Hermione’s mind went blank as she stared at the Headmistress, waiting to be told that this was all a joke. But Minerva said nothing, and as the silence lengthened, it became very clear that she was not joking. 

“It’s my first day.” Hermione said weakly. “I can’t just-”

“But you can, Professor Granger. Neville has enough on his plate, and frankly, you’re the obvious candidate. The students adore you, your credentials are beyond reproach, and your attitude is exactly the sort of thing I’m looking for.”

“I can’t, Headmistress. I have so much work to do, I really won’t have time!”

Headmistress McGonagall gave her a dry look. “I don’t know how much trouble you could have, Professor Granger, since you wrote half the books on the Charms syllabus this year.”

Hermione was torn. On the one hand, this was a huge honour, more than a little exciting, and the trust Minerva was placing in her was deeply flattering. Not to mention how much more she could help the students! On the other hand, she remembered how exhausted she had been in her third year at Hogwarts, when she had tried to take on more than what she could handle. It would be foolish to make that same mistake again. 

All things considered, she thought it might have been easier if she had given Lucius Malfoy a sharp slap across the face when they’d met in the courtyard. It certainly would have left her with a lot more spare time. 

Minerva favoured Hermione with a fond smile, and the young witch felt the trap closing shut around her. 

“Excellent. We shall announce your new position during the Sorting tonight. Oh, and Professor Granger?” The Headmistress’ eyes twinkled in a very familiar way. “Welcome to Hogwarts.”

* * *

  
  


_Later that evening..._

  
  


* * *

  
  


Hermione entered the Great Hall and felt a brief clamour of panic, until Neville saw her. He waved her over and she gladly took the empty space between him and Sinistra at the staff table. She couldn’t have asked for better company, or to be much further away from Lucius and Trelawney, who sat at the other end of the table, past Minerva. 

The Sorting went well. Hardly any students fell over their feet on their way to be Sorted, and everyone seemed pleased enough with where the Hat had placed them. She remembered her own Sorting, and how she had fervently prayed to be put in Gryffindor, or Ravenclaw, or anywhere that wasn’t Slytherin. 

It was hard to say, but to her it seemed that Slytherin received a smaller portion of this year's intake than was really normal. Her suspicions were confirmed when she studied the Slytherin table. It was nowhere near as full as the others; the students were spread out and there were gaps. She wondered, to herself, if the war had resulted in so many pureblooded deaths that there were simply less students for the Hat to choose from that fit Salazaar’s requirements. Or were the Slytherin traits of ambition, cunning, determination, were less prominent this year?

She snuck a look at Lucius Malfoy from the corner of her eye, curious to see what he thought of it all. But if he noticed what she had, or was concerned by it, was impossible to say. The pureblooded wizard sat tall in his chair, his eyes calmly fixed on his House’s table. He did not say a word to anyone. 

Headmistress McGonagall introduced her as the new Charms Professor to thunderous applause, particularly from the Gryffindor table. They knew that she was one of them. And then she gave them all the news that she was to replace Neville as Head of House, and the applause became louder still. The teacher’s table joined in, albeit in a more dignified way, and Neville stood up and shook her hand in a gesture of solidarity that warmed her heart. She had never gotten around to asking McGonagall _why_ the position of Head of House had opened up, and she had been quietly petrified that Neville would be angry with her when he found out. 

Hermione beamed out at the crowd. They adored her. She had been worried, concerned that her parentage would stand in the way, but no-one seemed to care in the slightest. Hogwarts had welcomed her with open arms. 

At Minerva’s signal, mountains of food simply appeared on the tables. The room was filled with murmurs of joy and incredible smells. It was a spectacle that never failed to impress, and from the staff table she could see every shining face, hear every delighted gasp. 

Most of the food she could have seen anywhere; entire roasts, tureens of gravy, platters of mash and vegetables of every kind. This year had been cold, so there were steaming bowls of stew too for those that wanted them. But then there were the jugs of pumpkin juice, the blue roasted mushrooms, and the spiced tree roots that marked this as a meal made with magical people in mind. As always happened on Feast nights, while she hadn’t been hungry before, Hermione suddenly found herself starving. 

Hermione was quietly thrilled to see that the staff meals were the exact same, although they were given wine. The professors started to tuck in, and Sinistra asked her if she had seen Flitwick recently. Hermione chattered with the Astronomy Professor as she loaded up her plate. She took a glance down the table to see Tiberius Flint deep in conversation with Trelawney. A shame. But she supposed there would be plenty of time for talk later. 

It was going to be an interesting year.


	2. Neville Longbottom and the Head Club

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so firstly I wanted to say that I am so so happy that this fic has received so much support, kudos and reviews ect. already. It's been really, really encouraging to say the least. I really hope you enjoy this chapter!
> 
> A special thank you, by the way, to Honoria Granger on ff.net who caught some VERY embarrassing spelling mistakes. I was able to edit them out on the A03 version but couldn't wrap my head around the FF.net editing system. Thanks Honoria!
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!

Hermione woke up to her first day as Charms Professor bright and early. 

She was up and out of bed in no time at all. She hadn’t slept much anyway, being far too excited for the day ahead. And of course she was; she had been working towards this day for years. 

Her first day. She recited it over and over as she pulled on her trousers. Sometimes in her head, sometimes aloud, and sometimes to Crookshanks. He did not seem particularly impressed. What he seemed was  _ grumpy.  _ As an inventor and an academic, she had usually kept her own hours. He did not understand why his mother suddenly had to get out of bed, where she had been doing a very good job of keeping him warm. Pulling on her robes, she scratched the dear orange cat under his chin until his sulking abated.

It was a Friday. On Fridays, she taught first years in the mornings, fourth years after lunch, and her NEWTS class in the evenings. Gryffindors and Ravenclaws for the first years, Slytherins and Hufflepuffs for the fourth years. Hermione had noticed that most of her timetable looked like that. Only in the NEWTS class would Slytherins and Gryffindors be mixed together. Hermione hoped that one day that could change, but she remembered all too well how poorly Slytherins and Gryffindors had gotten along even  _ before  _ the war. Considering everything that had happened, the day when all the Houses could mingle together was probably far off in the future. 

Last night she had prepared a smart briefcase with all of her teaching equipment (her textbooks, binder, a spare wand, a few potions in case anyone hurt themselves) and left it right by the door. She checked everything over twice before she finally accepted that she was ready. 

She practically ran down the stairs to breakfast, only to find that the Great Hall was deserted. Hermione had hoped that some of the other teachers might be there, at least. She had wanted to go over her lesson plans with them, ask if they had any advice to share. But it  _ was  _ early.  _ No matter _ , Hermione thought as she sipped at her tea. What would last minute consultations do except make her feel even more nervous, anyway? She had to have faith in her abilities. Minerva believed in her. 

By the time she set off for the Charms classroom, she was grinning fit to burst. 

Most of all, she was looking forward to her NEWTS class. They would be the cream of the crop. NEWTS was where the really exceptional students would get to spread their wings. The thought of what they might be able to achieve was really exciting. 

The fourth years, she knew, would probably be trouble. This wasn’t to say that some of them wouldn’t be gifted, talented witches and wizards; she was sure they would be. But when she looked back on her fourth year at Hogwarts, it had been absolute chaos. Harry and Ron had been at one another’s throats all year, and she and Ron hadn’t been much better. The stresses of the Tournament had probably made things worse than what they’d needed to be, but still. Many of them would be trying to find themselves, struggling to understand the many difficult parts of growing up. It was a challenging time in a young person’s life. As a teacher, she might not know exactly what was going on, or who fancied who, but it would be naive to think that some of their interpersonal problems might not come to class with them. She would have to be particularly understanding with them. 

But more than the others, it was her class with the first years that had her worried. She remembered how clueless she had been at that age, how little she had known about what she could do. The only thing she really expected was that they would try their best and listen to her instructions. This was their first class, after all. For some of them, the muggleborns, this could be the first time they had ever used their wands. No, more than that, this might be the first time they had ever consciously used magic _ at all.  _

God, they must be so nervous. The purebloods and halfbloods had no idea what it was like, being so new to all this. Looking back, she honestly had no idea how she had coped. Leaving her family behind for most of the year, surrounded by strangers, bombarded with so much information. But Hermione had always been a sponge. As long as she was learning something new, loneliness couldn’t have much power over her. 

She would do whatever she could to help the students feel comfortable with their new lives.

Hermione stepped into her classroom. 

The Charms classroom was not as large as she’d remembered it, but it was still very impressive to look at. Dark panelled and lined with long benches along the walls, it was starkly different from any other classroom in the castle. It resembled a courtroom more than anything else. Only the faint scratchings of runes and charmwork from students (and teachers, she suspected) of years gone by would have raised muggle suspicions that this wasn’t an ordinary room. 

Hermione frowned. As a classroom, this wouldn’t have been her first choice. She hadn’t thought anything of it as a student, but as an adult, having a Charms room made up of flammable materials just seemed like poor judgement. If she asked Minerva to move the classroom, how would she react? She got the sense that that might be asking for too much. This had served as the Charms room for over a century.  _ One step at a time, Hermione.  _

Resting her briefcase against the wall behind the teachers podium, she took a walk around. The windows that backed the podium lent a little warmth. Hmph. Not  _ actual  _ warmth, apparently. She could feel the chill emanating from the glass. It was only September. The children might not notice it much now, but by December, they would be freezing. That would  _ not  _ do. 

With a quick bit of wandwork she enchanted her shoes with an airwalking charm. She stepped up into the air, walked back and forth as though on an invisible staircase, and in doing so was able to make her way ten feet in the air with no real difficulty. 

She turned her attention to the windows. Even a quick glance told her that the windows  _ had  _ been enchanted to keep out the worst of the cold, but it must have been a long time ago. Flitwick had goblin heritage, so he might simply have been too hardy to notice, but the enchantments needed renewing. 

This would be the trickiest bit of charmwork she’d done since being reunited with her wand. She took it slowly; meticulously following through every movement so as not to startle it. She needn’t have worried. It was as if they had never been separated. The wand was ready and eager to work. The glass glowed amber at the fixture; too warm. She attuned the charm just a little further and held her hand against the glass. Much better. But then, she mused, there was no reason she couldn’t improve things while she was here. If the window could keep out the cold, surely it could keep out the heat too? This room got  _ hot  _ in summer. She remembered that all too well. There was no reason the glass couldn’t hold another few charms, as long as she was careful.

She was too preoccupied by these thoughts to hear the sound of two dozen children filing into the room behind her. And so the first sight the first-years of Hogwarts had of their Charms teacher was of her standing calmly on thin air, ten feet up, one hand on her hip while pointing and gesturing with her wand. She was muttering to herself. 

Her reputation as a war hero had already made some of them a little apprehensive. This, in addition to her black teachers robes and her completely unexplained levitation, made for quite an intimidating sight. One of the children gave a little squeak as they came in. 

Hermione finally turned around. 

“Oh. Good morning, class.”

With one voice, the children replied, “Good morning, Professor Granger.”

She alighted down onto solid ground and with a firm wand-wave at her shoes, stayed there. The children were standing and staring. Awe and respect was on all their faces, and someone turned and whispered something to someone. It sounded a lot like,  _ “See, I told you!” _

Resolutely ignoring this, she said, “Everyone take your seats and bring out your textbooks. Have you all read chapter one?”

The children replied that yes, they had. 

“Wonderful. Today we are working on,” and she turned to point her wand at the blackboard, which promptly began to spell out the words  _ winguardium leviosa.  _ “A very simple levitation charm. You would be surprised at how often it comes in handy.”

* * *

Despite her misgivings, the first year Charms class went smoothly. As she’d predicted, the fourth years were a little more spirited. She’d had to make it very clear that she would  _ not  _ be answering any questions about the War, the hunt for the Horcruxes, any of it, before they focussed on their work. 

As a whole, the students were quiet, obedient, and everyone seemed to have a better grasp of the theory than she had hoped. The common problem she saw was a lack of confidence. Unfortunately it was a widespread issue; it was almost as pronounced in her NEWTs class as it was with the first-years. The students were withdrawn, nervous with handling their wands, and wary of each other. Inexperience accounted for most of it, but her instincts told her that it was more than that. It didn’t take a genius to see why. It was about halfway through her NEWTs class that Hermione decided that one of her goals as a Professor would be to make the children feel as safe as possible; and not only in her classroom, but in the entire castle. She knew it would take time before they trusted her - discounting those who hero worshipped her because of the war, of course - but it would be time well spent. She wanted her students to be as capable, as confident, as she could possibly make them. 

Overall, she was pleased. Her biggest worries hadn’t happened. Yet. No-one had been injured. The students might not be talking to one another very much, but she hadn’t heard any name-calling either. Just as importantly, she had remained calm through the whole thing. She knew she had a temper. She found people less gifted than herself frustrating. A part of her had been frightened that some of that might come to the fore with her students. Somehow, it hadn’t. If a student was slow, it was because their curiosity hadn’t been nurtured enough, or because they hadn’t been corrected properly when they made a mistake. They were children. No child struggled on purpose. 

And through the whole day, she remembered the bad as well as the good. If Flitwick was to be her example of how to teach, she had examples of how  _ not  _ to teach as well. Never would she show favouritism. Never would a student feel unwelcome in her class. 

It was not long after her last class of the day had ended when there was a knock at the door of her classroom. This was odd, not only because the homework she’d set had been simple enough that none of the students should really need help with it, but because most people would have better things to do on a Friday night than visit a classroom. 

“Come in!” She called out, waving her wand and cleaning up the telltale signs that a young wizard had gotten distracted while trying a  _ capacious extremis _ . 

Hermione turned and saw Neville Longbottom leaning on the door frame, looking perfectly at ease. God, he’d grown tall. 

“Hermione Granger, Head of Gryffindor House, eh?” He said with a smile, hands in the pockets of his robes. 

Oh. That. She’d meant to talk to Neville privately, but with everything else, she’d forgotten. “Oh, Neville, I honestly am so sorry. I swear I never meant to-”

Hermione’s apologies were broken mid-sentence by Neville crossing the room to fold her in a tight hug. 

“You are an absolute angel, thank you, right when I needed you!” Neville’s voice in her ear sent little shivers up and down her spine.

“I- really? You’re not upset at all?” 

Neville put her at arms length and looked her right in the face. “Yes, really! Hannah’s due any minute now, and Lana told us just last week that she wants to be the Minister for Magic, so there’s that-”

Hermione’s head was reeling. “Lana, your daughter? How old is she?”

“Three this September.” Neville said cheerfully. “They grow up fast, don’t they? Anyway, Hannah says she really needs me. Me being at Hogwarts so much was fine when we just had the one, but Hannah’s feet are swelling up, and her back’s always hurting and, you know, when the baby comes-” He blushed. “She says she’ll feel a lot better if I’m at home more.”

Hermione looked into his honest, kind face and saw just how happy he was. That handshake when Minerva had announced the news had been genuine after all. Neville simply didn’t have a jealous bone in his body. Or an ambitious one. 

Putting the last of her guilt to rest, Hermione hedged, “Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind...”

Neville beamed at her. “You’re the best, Hermione. So, Minerva said I had to show you your duties. We should get started now, don’t you think? I know you like getting a head start on things!”

At this proclamation, Neville took her by the hand, and Hermione spent the rest of the evening being dragged around Hogwarts by the delighted and energetic Herbology Professor. The most important he showed her was probably the Head of Gryffindor House Office. With a warning about the enchanted doorknob, he pulled her into the room she would spend a sizeable chunk of her career in.

Hermione was delighted with it. The office was warm, comfortable, and decorated with a truly obnoxious amount of crimson and gold. It was also filled with pictures of them all. To help her feel ‘settled in’, apparently. Neville summoned a House Elf to bring them a pot of tea, and they spent a while going through them together, laughing at and with their younger selves. 

While she rifled through the desk and started happily planning her organisation system, Neville took the opportunity to give her a colossal book terrifyingly titled, _‘The Worrees and Responsybylitees of a Hoggwarts Heade of Howse’_. Hermione felt the colour drain from her face at the sight of it. 

Neville rushed to assure her. “There’s not too much, really, and you were always so clever you’ll be fine, I always have to make these lists or I just lose track so you can use one of mine if you like-?”

At this, he pointed to the blackboard that dominated almost an entire wall. She had seen it, but had sort of been hoping it would have nothing to do with her. In a series of strange squiggles and looping arrows, it laid out a schedule that made her wish, not for the first time, for her old Timeturner. 

“Anyway,” he filled the aghast silence by saying, “on Friday nights, the Heads of House meet together for drinks in the Club Room. It’s not compulsory or anything, but it’s a tradition, and they care a lot about tradition.”

Today was Friday, and the sun had long since gone down. Feeling unease curdle in the pit of her stomach, she asked delicately, “What time does the Club usually meet, Neville?”

He quickly checked the clock on the wall, and a look of absolute horror dawned on his face. 

Some things never changed. “Don’t worry about it Neville, I’m too tired anyway-” And she was tired. It had been a wonderful day, but she could feel exhaustion rearing its ugly head. And then there was the rest of the week to consider. She had her Head of House duties to plan for. She’d sort of assumed that being a Head of House was only what she’d seen as a student; giving out and detracting points, disciplining students, looking after the Quidditch team. Apparently the role was a lot more involved than what she’d thought. 

She’d stay long enough to finish her cup of tea, maybe ask Neville a few very pointed questions about the Head of House position, then call it a night. 

Neville wasn’t listening, however. “If we go right now, we’ll just make it! Everyone’s dying to meet you.”

And with that, Hermione was pulled out of the office and down the winding stairs at breakneck speed. 

He took her, of all places, to the Astronomy tower, and Hermione had to restrain the very unkind urge to ask him if he had gotten lost. But he bolted right up the stairs with complete confidence and stopped when he came to a portrait made up of constellations. 

Hermione stood beside him, eager for a chance to catch her breath. The portrait was… well, it was wrong. There was Leo, with his starry tail held high. But instead of Virgo or Ursa, beside him was a serpentine chain. Ophiuchus, the Snake. And beside the snake was a winged cluster, and last of all a great beast with sweeping claws. A badger. The four Houses. 

Neville said to the portrait, “We are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided.” And with barely a creak, the portrait swung open. 

He stood back to let her through, and she stepped into a warm, richly appointed room. A roaring double fire-place took up most of one wall, and the walls were lined with portraits. In one corner was a chess set, in the other a table and playing cards. 

And of course, in various poses of impatience, there were the Head of Houses. 

She couldn’t help but notice that they were all wearing evening wear. Professor Flint was immaculate in sapphire blue robes over a tailored muggle suit. Grubbly-Plank sat by the fire in an immense, very old-looking witches hat and fine black robes. She was puffing away on her pipe and the smoke hung in the air. It was not an unpleasant smell. In one corner of the room, Lucius Malfoy sat in a wingback chair. He was resplendent in grey, his cane propped upright against the chair. On his breast was a heavy serpent broach. In his hand was a glass; it was nearly empty.

“Sorry we’re late everyone!” Neville said as Flint came forward to shake her hand, and Lucius rose from his chair. “I had to show Hermione her office and everything.”

They made chit-chat for a little while before she noticed that Flint was staring at her. Specifically, he was staring at her robes. The longer he looked, the angrier he seemed to be. 

Professor Flint’s mustachios were quivering with outrage. “Neville, did you not even allow the lady time to change? Professor Granger is wearing the same clothes she wore at breakfast.”

Neville became flustered. “Um, I forgot-”

Tiberius spluttered. Hermione assured him that she didn’t mind. She loved her Professor’s robes. They made her feel like part of the staff and besides, they had pockets. Grubbly-Plank laughed at this and Tiberius calmed down, though he still didn’t look happy. 

“Come now, Tiberius.” Lucius drawled. “He remembered to bring her here, did he not? That shows real improvement.”

Neville flushed. 

For a moment Hermione felt an overwhelming urge to hex the potions teacher, but then she caught the self-deprecating grin growing on Neville’s face. It was all in good fun, apparently. Surprise filled her, and she decided not to make snap judgements. She was new here. Colleagues poked fun at one another all the time. Besides, Neville wasn’t the shy boy she had once known. He could take care of himself if he needed to. 

She studied the room, starting with the person most foreign to her: the Ravenclaw Head of House. She was equally impressed by him and wary of him, and she couldn’t help but wonder why such a world renowned wizard would settle for a position at Hogwarts. Like her, teaching must be his passion. Now that she had a chance to see him a little closer, she found that Professor Flint was not as old as she had imagined him. His tweed suit, his great, elaborately curled moustache and his slicked-down… it was all very deceiving. He was, at most, only ten years her senior. 

“Go on, Neville, show her around.” Grubbly-Plank said kindly. 

Neville remembered himself and gestured for her to follow. Hermione fell into step behind him. 

“Right. So, since I’m the outgoing Head, I have to take you through it all. These are the Founders of the Club, you have to say hello to them first.” Neville led her to the fireplace. Hanging directly above it was a grand old portrait of four witches and wizards, all grey haired and very important. It was impossible to say who belonged to which House. They seemed to be paying the real world no attention at all, and were deep in conversation with each other. Only when Neville gave a pointed cough did they turn to look at her. 

She had never felt very confident with talking to portraits, so she kept it simple. “Hello. I’m Hermione Granger.”

The four founding Heads gave dignified nods, then resumed their discussion. Hermione thought it was a terrible shame. She would have liked to get to know them. 

Neville saw that she was disappointed, and said, “Don’t mind them. They were the same with me at first. Portraits like to pretend they have loads going on.”

Neville drew her further around the room, pointing out particularly significant portraits as he went. He pointed out Snape’s portrait; mercifully empty. 

Seeing how relieved she looked, Neville smiled sadly, “He’s never there anyway. Apparently he only ever came to the Club once while he was, uh, alive.”

“That’s probably for the best.” Hermione said. Snape was a hero. He had done his part to bring about Voldemort’s downfall. That didn’t mean she wanted to see him. Hermione had never forgotten that his last words had been a last selfish grab for Lily Potter rather than an apology for all the cruelty he had inflicted on them over the years. 

When she judged that they were far enough away, and that Tiberius was making enough noise to grant them some privacy, she asked under her breath, “What about  _ him _ ?”

Neville understood straight away. “Who, Lucius? He’s not too bad, really. I wasn’t happy when McGonagall brought him on. Practically no-one was. But he’s a pretty good teacher. Doesn’t pick on the muggleborns like Snape used to. Brews all sorts of potions for Hannah.”

Hermione thought to herself that it was pretty sad that a teacher not using his power to torment his students was seen as such a rare thing. She also knew that as far as Neville was concerned, anyone who helped Hannah in any way could probably do no wrong. She couldn’t expect any sort of unbiased opinion on the Potions Professor from Neville. 

Tour complete, Neville said his goodbyes with a vigorous handshake and repeated thanks. Hermione immediately wished that he wouldn’t leave. He was the only one out of all of them she knew well, and she suddenly felt very silly to be with these people for no other reason than because Neville Longbottom had said that it was tradition. 

As the door swung shut behind him, Grubbly-Plank said, “Well, Neville finally found someone to take the job off his hands, didn’t he?” 

Flint gave Hermione a friendly wink. “The lad is cleverer than he lets on.”

“Good for him.” Grubbly-Plank said emphatically. “He has his priorities straight, that one. Always has.” Her tone was fond, and Hermione realised she liked Grubbly-Plank very much. 

The Hufflepuff went on, “How was your first day?” 

Challenging. Inspiring. Everything she had ever wanted, and more. Today she’d seen a child cast his very first spell. She’d helped another at least get the wand movements right, which was a very good start. She’d met her NEWTs class and discussed their plans for the future. She felt like she had done more tangible good today than in a fortnight of writing and researching. It was a truly incredible feeling, and she hoped she would never take it for granted. 

“It was lovely, thank you.”

Tiberius spoke up, “How did you find the students? Not too unruly, I trust? Should you run into any difficulty, we are all at your disposal. Indeed, that is half the Head’s club purpose. Whatever our differences, we can all rely on each other in a crisis.”

Hermione couldn’t help it. She looked over to Lucius.  _ Whatever our differences, we can all rely on each other... _

Hermione didn’t know Lucius Malfoy beyond conjecture and the very little experience she’d had with him. Of those experiences only one of them, the return of her wand, had shown her any good in him, even if it was by far the most personal interaction they had had. So she didn’t understand him enough to even make an educated guess as to what he was thinking or how he was feeling. But he was turning red, and she hoped that it meant he was ashamed. Ashamed that Tiberius thought he was a better man than what he was? Or ashamed that it had taken him so many years to begin to make amends? 

Regardless of the reason, red was not a good colour for a man of his complexion. 

The Potions Professor rose to leave in a single smooth motion. “You all carry on, it is late.” 

Hermione tried to hide that she was watching him by engaging Grubbly-Plank in a conversation about a Gryffindor-Hufflepuff Hatstall that had happened during the Sorting. 

The Arithmancy Professor, oddly, had no intentions of letting Lucius leave. Across the room, Flint was trying to pour more sherry into Lucius’ glass in an attempt to convince him that, “No, really Lucius old boy, no-one will notice, you’re a potioneer, aren’t you? Brew a few sober-ups-”

Lucius tried to step around him, “I have a mountain of homework to mark, Tiberius, really, I must go-”

“Nonsense! Just last week, you had us all up until three in the morning; Neville desperate to go home to his wife, and poor Grubbly-Plank dancing all night, and I, forced to drink until I couldn’t bear another drop-”

“I had a lovely time.” Grubbly-Plank said. 

“What a fascinating recollection of events.” Lucius said, coming to a stop. “Completely divorced from reality, of course, but fascinating nonetheless.”

“Oh come now, Lucius, it’s not even midnight, I’ve never seen you retire so early-” As he spoke, the Ravenclaw was moving his fingers, ever so slightly, and Lucius’ glass was filling up.

He did not notice. “It is half-past one. Tiberius. This imagination of yours, how helpful you must find it in all your inventions-!”

The two of them launched headlong into a good-hearted quarrel, and within a minute Lucius was drinking absently from his glass, and Tiberius was trying to goad him, without any prospect of success, into playing a game of wizard chess with him. 

“They’re silly boys.” Grubbly-Plank said. Her voice was very quiet, and only Hermione could hear her. “But they’re not that bad.” 

Hermione could only laugh at the idea of Lucius Malfoy being a ‘boy’, and at the sound of her laughter both of the men turned to face her. She raised her chin up, as if to say,  _ what are you looking at? _ and the wizards dove straight back into their argument, albeit in slightly lower voices. Lucius’ grey eyes were warm, and Hermione saw that he had a friend. 

Grubbly-Plank went on in her matter of fact way; “I was worried that when dear Neville left us, I might be the only sensible one left, but you don’t seem to have changed all that much from when I taught you, Hermione.”

Encouraged by this sort of normal conversation, Hermione sat by Grubbly-Plank and listened to her talk about all the wonderful places she’d been, and all the fantastic creatures she’d seen in her many years. The older witch was a gold-mine of knowledge and experience, and while Hermione was exhausted when she finally left the Head Club room before dawn, she knew the night had been productive. 

Hermione drew the covers over her, smiling as Crookshanks immediately planted himself on his favourite spot; right between her feet. The old cat’s purrs filled the air, growing louder and louder. Hermione found herself drifting off. 

While totally unexpected, tonight had also been a lot of fun. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the plot thickens! What do you think about the Head Club? 
> 
> These next few chapters might be a bit slow, but it's just cause we're laying down groundwork. See you in about a week for the next chapter!
> 
> As always, Kudos, reviews, ect... are so so appreciated! Let me know your thoughts!


	3. Out with the old...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! This chapter was quite a challenge to write, but I really hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> A big thank you to my wonderful Editor, JessariOfErebor, who really pulled out all the stops for this chapter.

Hermione raced down the little path to Hagrid’s House, feeling like a little girl again. 

She had barely come within eyeshot of the shack when she heard a tremendous barking erupt ahead of her. _Fang._

The shack’s door opened and a mountain stepped out of it, a massive dog barking madly at his heels. Hermione’s heart clenched in her chest.

“What’s all this racket, Fang? You silly dog, hush that-” And then Hagrid saw her, and dropped the pan he was holding. Hermione caught it with a flick of her fingers and floated it up to him. 

She gave him a wave. “Hello, Hagrid!”

“Hermione!” Hagrid exclaimed. His hair was shot with grey and he was wearing a new apron (with, oddly enough, a branch poking out of it), but he was still Hagrid. She raced to him and threw her arms around him, squeezing him as hard as she could in her exuberance. 

Somewhere far, far above her, she heard a suspicious sniffle, followed by a cough. “Well, now. Easy does it, Professor Granger. My ribs aren’t what they used to be.”

“Rubbish, and you don’t need to call me Professor, Hagrid. Just Hermione!” 

Hagrid led her into the shack and shooed her into a chair twice her size to be slobbered on by Fang, while he started puttering away at the stove. 

“They’re fresh, made them only a few days ago, just like old times!”

A smell began to waft through the shack, and Hermione recognised it immediately as the smell of his rock cakes. A very unkind impulse to tell him that she really wasn’t hungry sprang up in her, and she kept it at bay by looking around as she waited. 

The shack was just the same. The stove, tea kettle, the armchairs and the bed were all crammed into one room. For a person of her size, it was actually very cozy, but for Hagrid it must have been very small. Hermione wondered, not for the first time, why he didn’t ask Minerva to have something better built for him. As for the furnishings, everything was either patched up or hand made, or both. One change struck her straight away though: the addition of a bookshelf above the fireplace. 

She couldn’t help it; she stood up and had a nose around. She could never resist a bookshelf. 

The shelf was like a little window into Hagrid’s great heart. There was a box of dried flowers and a few old keepsakes. There were books there, which struck Hermione as a little odd. _Charms and Spells_ , the old classic. _Theoretical Transfiguration for the Young Witch or Wizard_ was there too. Most gratifyingly, the shelf also held what appeared to be every single book Hermione had ever written _._ In pride of place, there was a moving picture of the four of them at the Quidditch World Cup together; her and Ron stood smiling on one side, having put their bitterness aside for one night of peace. On the other side was Harry and Hagrid, both very drunk and caught in the middle of a fit of laughter. They rocked back and forwards in the moving picture, clutching their sides as they wheezed. It had been a wonderful night. 

“How’ve you been, Hagrid?” She asked as he sank down into a chair with a groan, putting down a plate of hot cakes on the rickety little table. There was no putting it off, so she sat down, took a cake and chewed very, very gently. That was the key. 

“Oh, well, you know. Same old, same old.” Hagrid’s eyes twinkled. “There’s just one thing I wanted to show you.” And he waved a massive hand at the branch belted to his waist. 

Only, Hermione saw now that she was looking closely, it wasn’t just any old branch. It had a handle, of sorts, right there at the top, and it tapered to a point at the end- 

It was a wand! “Hagrid! You can’t just have this out in the open, you’ll be in so much trouble!”

Hagrid chuckled. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that! Did a remedial course with McGonagall herself, just last year. Not cleared to do any big spells with it yet, and sometimes I miss that old umbrella, but I get by.” 

Hermione felt her heart in her mouth as she looked at the wand, which he could finally show her for the first time. It looked a little wild, maybe, but the wood was clean and a wholesome nut-brown. 

Really delighted for him, she said, “It’s absolutely beautiful, Hagrid. Well done!”

He blushed bright red, and immediately excused himself to go back to the kitchen for more hot cakes. Hermione had barely made it through half the first one, and her jaw already hurt. 

It was a sensitive topic, but she had to ask. “How are you feeling, Hagrid? About… not teaching Care of Magical Creatures?” 

Hagrid harrumphed as he returned with more cakes. “Well, was never really my calling, was it? I only did it as a favour to Dumbledore. I still give Professor Grubbly-Plank a hand every now and then, when she needs something with a bit of spirit moved. But that ain’t too often. She doesn’t go in for our sort of creatures, between you and me.” He gave her a disbelieving shake of the head, as if shocked that a teacher might not choose Blast-Ended Screwts or Hippogriffs for practical demonstration. “But she’s friendly, and she’s got a good way with students, I’ll give her that. But enough about me. What about you, eh? Charms Professor, and not even thirty?” His immense chest swelled with pride, and she could see the glint of tears around his eyes again. “Always knew ye’d go far, Hermione.”

Hermione smiled and blushed at the praise. “Thank you, Hagrid. These last few years have been hard work. I’m really excited. I think I can do a lot of good here.”

“There’s no doubt about that! Made for great things, you are. Why, it wasn’t so long ago I was taking you across that Lake. You were barely taller’n my knee!” Hagrid’s eyes misted over warningly, and Hermione conjured him up a handkerchief. “And now look at ye, Head of House and everything!” He blew his nose, and Hermione jumped at the sudden blast of noise. 

It took him a while to calm down after that. Eventually, Hagrid managed to ask, “What’s it like, being Head of House? Having everyone look up to ye?”

Hermione had to hold herself back from being completely honest with him. She did not want to upset him, but truthfully, being a Head of House was not all it was cracked up to be. The position came with a great deal of responsibilities, a crushing workload, and at least a mild headache daily. She tried to think of something fun to tell him, and her mind strayed to the late nights she had been having recently. She had worried that they would be a waste of precious time, but the Head Club had become an oasis of leisure and camaraderie in an otherwise brutal work week. 

“Well, there’s this formal sort of Club for the Heads of Houses.” Hagrid looked interested, so she went on. “We talk about how the school is going and have drinks. Everyone wears all these amazing clothes. Neville took me there wearing my normal robes, and I think I broke some really old tradition, but since it was my first time they didn’t mind.”

At this, Hagrid’s eyes lit up with an idea. “If it’s clothes yer needing, I know just the place!”

Now, the last thing she wanted to do in the world was hurt Hagrid’s feelings, but the idea of her colleagues seeing her wearing anything the groundskeeper would deem as fashionable was not appealing. She loved Hagrid dearly, but this was a man who wore a hairy suit for special occasions. 

“Oh, thank you, Hagrid, but it’s a very formal sort of club.” Hermione floundered. “Not the sort of place where you can wear nice, comfortable clothes. Otherwise I’d just keep on wearing my robes.”

Her diplomatic refusal went completely over the half-giant’s head, and he only beamed at her. 

“Well, Olympe’s a high class lady, ain't she? She says it’s the best dress-makers in England, and you know she’d never say that if it weren’t true.”

Hermione pursed her lips. She remembered Olympe Maxime only dimly, and mostly for her incredible height. But what she did remember was promising; she had been a dignified woman and Hermione couldn’t recall being horrified by anything she had worn. 

“And this shop, is it the sort of place where- where someone a little on the small side, like me, could find something to wear?”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that. The tailors there are proper magic folk. If something don’t fit, they’ll make it fit.”

* * *

Hagrid had not let her leave his hut until they had set a date for their shopping trip, and as it drew closer and closer, Hermione wished more and more that she hadn’t mentioned the Head’s Club at all. Deceit of any kind disgusted her, though, and the idea of not sharing things with Hagrid made her feel uncomfortable. Hagrid had earned her honesty, her trust, a thousand times over. If she was worried about something, she was perfectly right to confide in him. 

Even so, it was with more than a little trepidation that Hermione apparated, taking Hagrid Sidelong with her into Diagon Alley. Hagrid strode down the twisting, cobbled streets, and she followed. It wasn’t easy, since keeping up with him meant she nearly had to run. 

She saw Madam Malkin’s and her worry eased off, but Hagrid did not slow his pace and they went straight past it. And Monsieur Marchant’s, which probably would have been her first choice. 

Hermione held up hope right until they had gone past every respectable dress-maker and tailor in Diagon Alley. Even as they passed Knockturn Alley, she really tried to have faith that the place Hagrid was taking her to might be somewhere decent, if a little off the beaten track. 

It became clearer and clearer as they went on, and the crowds thinned and the shops grew grimier and grimier, that this faith was entirely misplaced. They rarely saw anyone else, and the people they did see walked in furtive, quick steps, with eyes downcast. 

Hagrid took her down a dead-end alley of dark-bricked stone, yelling cheerfully over his shoulder that they were almost there. Hermione covered her nose with one hand. The alley smelled the way that alleys all over the world smelled. 

Hagrid came to a sudden stop, and she saw that he stood before a crack in the wall. It was mossy, overgrown with weeds, and exactly the right size for her and Hagrid to squeeze through, if they went in sideways one at a time and forgot that they needed to breathe. 

The leaves rustled and a wind swept through, no, a wind swept _out_ of the crack in the wall. Without thinking, Hermione breathed deep, then gagged. It was sweet, but in the way over-ripe fruit was sweet. It smelled like something that had once been wholesome and was just starting to go bad. 

“Hagrid,” Hermione said in a last ditch effort, “Have we gotten lost?”

“Oh, no. This is it.” Hagrid looked over his shoulder at her. “Don’t fret, come on through.”

The wall pulsated. It seemed… friendly. 

Hagrid went through the opening, sucking in his great chest and shuffling sideways. Against her better judgement, Hermione followed. She wouldn’t let Hagrid go alone. 

It was a very tight squeeze indeed, and the sponginess of the walls made the whole thing feel very unpleasant. Hermione was not an idiot, and she already felt like they should have come out the other side already. She counted the steps in her mind, and it became very clear that a wall that could only have been a foot or so thick shouldn’t have taken them twenty steps to get through. 

Just as she was about to call for Hagrid to turn back, they came out of the dark damp and into a bright, airy place. She could not see where the light was coming from. They might have been standing in a tent-city. The walls, the ceiling, the floor, everything was rippling too light to be canvas. It stretched as far into the distance as she could see. Hangings of ivory and rose pink, crimson and pale gold covered the walls. It was like a glimpse into another world. The air was syrupy, but it was far from unpleasant. Hermione took another deep breath and her head spun in warning. Her ears rang as if her head were a bell that had been struck. 

She clapped her hand over her mouth. It made no difference. 

A horrible suspicion stole over her. “Hagrid, where are we?”

His eyes twinkled. Like he knew a joke that she didn’t. “Thought ye’d have figured it out by now, we’re in the Fairy Realm.”

She must have misheard. He could not be serious. Even Hagrid, who had raised a dragon in a flammable cottage, bought in a Hippogriff to show a class of third years, and had taken in a troll, could not be so reckless as to bring her here without so much as a warning. 

Hermione thought back on it and realised that really, this was all her fault. Hagrid had never said the staff were witches and wizards. He had said they were _proper magic folk._

Hagrid was still going on, completely oblivious to how cross with him she was. “Well, not really the Fairy Realm, it’s more like a half-way point. They bring their wares and wait for us to come to them. The Ministry wouldn’t let them set up shop in Diagon Alley, they’re awful close minded about them. No idea why; they’re not that dangerous as long as you treat them with respect.”

Hermione normally would have lashed out at such a careless, thoughtless statement. She always tried to keep an open mind but unfortunately, when it came to Fairies, there was a reason they were viewed with such trepidation by even the most powerful witches and wizards. Since it was Hagrid, she held her tongue. It was not an easy task.

Hagrid headed deeper into the ‘tent’ and she followed at his heels. She noticed that since the fabric of the place was rippling and snapping, that must mean there was a breeze outside. The thought that they weren’t hanging in a void was extremely comforting. 

She tried to convince him to turn back. But whether it was because her hand was still pressed against her nose and mouth, or because he just didn’t want to hear it, Hagrid didn’t give any sign that he had heard her. 

They were not alone. The workers (if they could be called workers, for they each glided to and fro in no real hurry) were of otherworldly beauty. One particularly stunning woman, with hair like mercury and great soulful sapphire eyes came towards them, bearing great folds of cloth in her hands. 

“Alright, Sunbeam?”

Hermione was shocked to hear Hagrid call this beautiful woman by such a sweet nickname, but the Veela did not flinch. Hermione reasoned that that might really be her name. 

“Something new for your paramour, Hagrid?” 

“No, this is fer Hermione!” Hagrid said cheerfully, gesturing toward the witch in question.

The Veela named Sunbeam raised an eyebrow but said nothing, and started winding her cloth around Hermione’s eyes and mouth. The heady sensation immediately eased and Hermione stopped holding her breath. She did not do the same thing for Hagrid, though, and he didn’t ask. Hermione reasoned that his Giant heritage must serve as protection enough for him. 

The Veela explained, “To protect you. The air here is… intoxicating, for ordinary folk.” Before Hermione could say that she was far from ordinary, Sunbeam led them on through the tent. 

The cloth around her eyes didn’t obscure her vision in the slightest. Here and there she caught sight of other humans, recognisable because of the bindings around their faces. They did not seem at all on edge. Perhaps they were regulars. 

Sunbeam took them to a private booth and left them there, job obviously done. Hagrid stood outside. He was so tall that Hermione could see the top of his great bushy head over the curtain. 

She wasn’t left alone for long. A winged woman let herself into the booth- she could only be a Fairy. 

Hermione stared. It was impossible not to. She was about Hermione’s height. Her wings were translucent and as thin as tissue paper. The slightest gust of wind could have torn them to shreds. Her face was beautiful, and totally inhuman. 

She was strangely vacant and hardly acknowledged her presence at all, which Hermione thought was very rude since she’d barged in. In fact, the Fairy wouldn’t say a word until Hermione said that she wanted a dress. At this point, the Fairy began to ask her questions. 

Hermione explained, as clearly she could, exactly what she needed from this dress. She had to look gorgeous, obviously, but she wanted it to be at least a little bit modern. She was a young woman. She didn’t want to look like she was wearing a curtain. It was hard to put into words, particularly because looking at the Fairy for too long made it very difficult to speak clearly. 

Luckily, the Fairy became sharper, more cognizant, with every word. Finally she nodded and a neatly folded bundle of pink fabric appeared in her arms. She stood with arms outstretched until Hermione took it from her. 

The Fairy was still standing there. 

“Would you- would you mind giving me a moment?” Hermione asked pointedly, and finally the Fairy floated out of the room. 

Within minutes Hermione found herself cloaked in robes of carnation pink. The fabric went down to her toes and sat heavily on her shoulders, and it was delicately embroidered around the hems with silver stars, but there all resemblance to traditional wizarding robes ended. The material was sheer, almost diaphanous, and a silver band cinched it tightly around the waist. It flared out at her hips. The sleeves were long, far longer than was really practical. If she had to fight in it, she would probably lose her wand altogether in their gossamer folds. 

Studying her reflection in the mirror, she couldn’t really tell if she looked absolutely ridiculous, or like a goddess out of myth. As far as she understood it, that meant that this was high fashion. 

She walked out to show Hagrid and the Fae woman how it looked. Hagrid was gobsmacked. He spluttered, he beamed, and finally he bragged over her like a proud father. 

The Fairy showed no such signs of enrapture. She only looked her up and down, and Hermione found that, now she could tear her eyes away from her wings and her face, the Fairy’s eyes were the exact shade of an autumn sunrise. 

The Fairy asked her, “You are Madame Olympe’s friend, I think?”

At Hagrid’s silent encouragement, Hermione said that she was, and the Fairy cocked her head to one side. After a few moments she nodded, as if an unseen person had said something. Hermione was reminded, in an uncomfortable way, of Luna Lovegood. She had the distinct impression that she might be talking to someone who was not altogether there. 

“It is, of course, a signature work.” The beautiful woman said in that thin, dreamy way. “I spun it from the final ray of a sunrise only a few days ago.”

As far as she knew, Fairies were not capable of telling outright lies, so Hermione supposed that this fantastical statement must be the truth. 

Hermione prepared herself for the worst. “How much is it?”

The assistant gave a tinkling laugh. “Oh, payment is such a small thing. Why you humans are so concerned with it, I will never understand.”

“I would like to know now, thank you.” Hermione said very firmly. 

The Fairy caressed her dress as a mother might caress her sleeping child and said, “We require only the seven happiest dreams you dream from now until this time next year. We shall provide instructions on how to catch them. And, of course, the traditional gift; a litre of forest dew.” The Fairy gave Hermione a peculiar, piercing look and finished, “And a song, I think, to be sung at the time and place of our choosing.” 

_Oh, is that all?_ Hermione thought wryly. But the dress was truly awe-inspiring, and so she said, “I’ll take-” 

“No, you won’t.” Hagrid interrupted. “Ye didn’t think I’d forget yer birthday, did ye?” Hermione flushed; she had almost forgotten herself, but it was only a few days away. Before she could answer, the Half-Giant said to the Fairy, “I’ll take yer price, Fairy, if ye’ll accept. My singing voice isn’t as pretty as Hermione’s, I reckon, but I know good songs.”

The Fairy turned her luminous eyes up to Hagrid and considered him. She neither moved nor blinked. Hermione shuddered at the thought of being so held under that gaze. The Half-Giant did not back down, and finally she said, “It would be our honour.”

* * *

An hour or so later, Hermione staggered up to her rooms. The stairs were harder to navigate than she remembered and who would have thought turning the doorknob would be so difficult? Her fingers scrambled for purchase, and failed. She leaned against the door with a sigh. 

She was drunk, there was no denying it. Drunk on fairy air. She would never have allowed Hagrid to make a bargain with one of the fae folk while sober. She would have to go to him in the morning, after she had slept it off, and make him relate the words of the bargain he’d struck for her sake word by word. 

If only she had known where they were going, she would have put a stop to it altogether. Hagrid, being half-giant, probably didn’t understand how dangerous the fae could be, nor how much being in their realm affected regular humans.

When she finally wrangled the door to her bedroom open, she saw that a large white box was there. She opened it to find the gorgeous dress within, just as the fairy had promised. She gave a happy sigh as her eyes and fingertips traced the intricate detailing. It truly was beautiful. 

* * *

She fiddled with her hair for the next half hour or so before finally deciding to leave it falling in tamed, soft waves over one shoulder. She wondered if anyone would notice the difference in her outfit’s material, and if they did, what they would think of it.

Her entrance into the Head Club room seized everyone’s undivided attention. This had pretty much been the effect she had been looking for. 

Flint asked immediately, “Sunsilk, isn’t it? Marvelous stuff. Terribly expensive, though. What did they get out of you for it?”

His encyclopedic knowledge extended to Fairy garments, apparently. It seemed like a funny thing for an Arithmancer to know, but Hermione had already noticed that Flint knew all sorts of strange things. 

Hermione debated internally for a moment, then said. “It was a birthday present, actually. But the payment the Fairies asked for was all the usual sorts of things they ask for.”

If everyone had been staring before, now they were rapt. Bloodhounds, scenting gossip. 

“A present, was it?” Grubbly-Plank asked. 

“What a remarkable gift.” Lucius said. “Not to pry, but who gave you such a thing?”

She didn’t feel the need to explain herself to him. “A good man.” She simply said.

The Malfoy quirked an eyebrow, but said nothing more.

Flint and Grubbly-Plank had taken the opportunity to summon up a House Elf and ask them to bring up a birthday cake for her. Hermione tried to refuse, seeing as it was eleven o’clock at night and she didn’t want them to make a fuss, but they would hear nothing of it. 

“When is your birthday, Hermione?”

“Oh, it was the day before yesterday, actually. September the 19th.” 

This statement provoked more uproar than she could have guessed. Since she had come into adulthood, she didn’t invest much time or effort into her birthdays anymore. Harry had thought to send her an owl on the day of, as he was busy with the ministry and unable to come to Hogwarts, and oddly so had Luna - but overall, her birthday was a very quiet affair. All that really mattered to Hermione was that she enjoyed the day. 

The others didn’t seem to share her sentiments, though. Tiberius was beside himself with apologies for not knowing and neglecting to get her a present, while Grubbly-Plank scowled up a storm. She seemed to take Hermione’s silence on the issue of her birthday as a personal affront. 

Clearly wanting to organise something special for next year, Grubbly-Plank said, “I’ll write it in my egg book so I can’t forget.”

Before Hermione could ask what exactly an egg book was, she heard Lucius Malfoy speak.

“How odd. My own-” Lucius said, and stopped. 

Flint eyed Lucius suspiciously. “Your own what, old boy? You can’t mean your birthday?” When Lucius didn’t deny it, the Arithmancer’s eyes lit up. “You never said a word!”

Lucius was wishing he had never spoken at all. “It is not important. I knew you would only make a fuss.” 

“When was it?” Grubbly-Plank said. 

She was a hard woman to refuse. “The 12th of September.” Lucius begrudgingly said. “And I’ll not have the two of you-”

But it was too late; Flint had already taken the idea and run with it. Eyes bright, he exclaimed, “Next year we’ll throw a party for the pair of you!”

Lucius and Hermione’s eyes met. Incredibly, Lucius rolled his eyes, and she couldn’t help but smile. Somehow, she didn’t think the Slytherin would mind being the center of attention that much, when it came down to it. As for herself, she thought the whole idea was… sweet. She had grown up an only child, and Harry and Ron had been her first friends. If Flint and Grubbly-Plank wanted to throw her a party, she would let them. 

Grubbly-Plank mourned that this year there wasn’t enough time to organise a really good celebration, but Tiberius suggested that the Kitchen Elves could probably make her a serviceable cake in an hour or so. Hermione didn’t protest too much. She got the funny feeling that they wouldn’t take no for an answer. 

In due time, the cake came in. It was an elaborate, elegant design that could have been prepared by any master patissier. Hermione had given into Grubbly-Plank’s relentless questioning and told her that her favourite sweets were chocolate and fudge, so the cake had been made accordingly. Hermione’s stomach informed her that it didn’t particularly care what time of the night it was. 

Grubbly-Plank passed her wand over the cake, and it divided into generous slices. “And seventy-seven more.” Flint and Lucius said, as if by rote. 

Hermione took a piece, mouth already watering. “Oh, years, you mean?” 

“It’s a Pureblood tradition.” Flint said. He looked a little embarrassed. Hermione realised he was worried he had offended her. 

Instead she found herself curious. “Do you say the same thing every year?”

“Of course.”

“Even if the person whose birthday it is is only a baby? That seems silly. Seventy-eight isn’t very old at all for a wizard or a witch.”

Grubbly-Plank laughed. “I’ve never thought of it that way. I suppose to parents, every year is a blessing.” 

The way she said it made Hermione realise that she knew absolutely nothing about the Care of Magical Creatures professor. 

They ate their cake and chatted together. Someone proposed that they should have a drink or two to celebrate Hermione and Lucius’ birthdays, and Hermione agreed. Tiberius poured her a glass of port, which she drank and immediately regretted. Grubbly-Plank took pity on her and recommended the sherry instead. Privately, Hermione wished she could just have a cocktail instead.

After a tentative first sip, she found she liked it quite a bit. It was sweet enough to be an immediate balm to the dreadful sourness of the port, and Hermione gladly helped herself to another while Tiberius tried (with a complete lack of subtlety) to find out what sort of things she might like for a birthday present next year. When he was finished questioning her, he tried the same thing with Lucius, who refused to answer. The Malfoy diverted the conversation, he deflected, he simply pretended not to hear. He did everything other than answer Tiberius, who was getting increasingly annoyed. 

The evening continued on in the same tone for a while. But when Tiberius finally gave up and started waspishly complaining to Grubbly-Plank about ‘the obtuseness of certain friends of ours’, Lucius Malfoy turned his attention to Hermione. 

Addressing her directly for the first time since he’d asked about the dress, he said, “Well, this is rather pleasant, isn’t it.” 

Hermione agreed that it was. As far as birthdays went, this was one of her nicer ones, and it wasn’t even technically her birthday. Birthdays with Ron’s family had always been a big event, and they had all gone out of their way to make her feel special. Unfortunately, there were just too many of them. A more exclusive gathering like this one was much better. 

Maybe it was the sherry talking, but Hermione realised that this was the sort of place that might be perfect for an actual conversation; and one she had been wanting to have with Lucius ever since she’d heard that they were going to be working together. Before that, even. She was inquisitive by nature. She had always wanted to know why. 

But she didn’t want to have this conversation in private. The idea made her feel uncomfortable. 

“Ah. We’ve come to it then. By all means, Professor Granger. Ask away.”

“And you’ll be totally honest with me?”

She got the impression that Lucius was about to make a joking remark in reply, but when he saw her serious expression, he held back. 

“Professor Granger, I have no reason to lie to you.”

She gave him a flatly disbelieving look. He was amused. 

“Professor Granger, really. You cannot ask a man to have a conversation with you, then tell him you won’t believe a word he says- oh, very well. Do you believe that I value my life, Professor Granger?”

 _Above all else._ “Yes I do, actually.”

“Then believe that I will not allow this conversation to go unspoken for the next five years. Unspoken things, I have learned, have a tendency to fester. You are a first class Charms witch. I have no intention of being strangled to death by a scarf or flattened by a bookshelf, or some such.”

How typical that the only reason he wanted to talk was to save his own skin. Hermione was torn between making the defensive comment that she would never use her magic to kill him and the other, slightly less mature point that if she wanted to kill him, she was sure there were a hundred more efficient (and impressive) ways of doing so. 

Ignorant of what she was thinking, Lucius gave her an encouraging look. “Please, by all means. Tiberius and Wilhemina have my complete trust. I can say nothing in front of them that I would regret saying.”

 _You asked for it._ “Were you a spy for the Order of the Phoenix?”

This must _not_ have been what he was expecting, because she was treated to the delightful sight of Lucius Malfoy nearly choking on his drink. 

When he recovered himself, he asked, “Whyever would you think that? No, never.”

She hadn’t thought so. “Were you really under the Imperius curse when you were Marked?”

The surprise faded from his grey eyes. “Ah, I see what you are getting at. No, I was never under the Imperius curse, Professor Granger.”

So that was a lie too. She had never doubted it, but she had wanted to be sure. She wanted to know that she hadn’t judged him unfairly. 

Feeling strangely disappointed, she said, “So you did it of your own free will. You served Voldemort because you wanted to.”

“You are mistaken, Professor Granger. Our choices were taken from us the day that Bellatrix opened the Manor to the Dark Lord.”

“No, they weren’t. Everyone has a choice. You chose not to resist.”

 _Unlike me_ , she left unsaid. She had resisted the Cruciatus Curse. Because it had been important, because people’s lives had hung in the balance. 

She had barely been an adult, but she had done the right thing. If he wanted to talk about this, fine, but she didn’t think he would enjoy the conversation. She wanted to know how he could live with himself. How he could justify being so selfish when so many others had been willing to put their lives on the line? 

“Professor Granger, there you are mistaken. By the time the Dark Lord returned, I knew his promises and visions for what they were. I wanted no part of the world he promised. Whatever you may think, I _did_ resist him. I remember the first time very clearly. Would you like me to tell you about it? It is not for the faint of heart, I am afraid.”

She nodded, not put off. Was this it? Was he about to tell her the redeeming act that must have convinced McGonagall to let him teach at Hogwarts? He hadn’t been a spy, maybe, but there were other ways to serve the Order. Perhaps he had given shelter or money to someone fleeing Voldemort. Maybe he could have… 

“Well, you should understand, Professor Granger, that the Dark Lord could be a gracious man. I imagine that must seem very strange to you. But it is true. There were times when he seemed as charismatic, as lucid, as he was in the days of my youth. He seemed… forgiving. Or so I deluded myself into thinking. He did not say a word of my failure in the Ministry. And I suppose weeks of this normal behaviour must have gone by, and it led me to the _very_ stupid conclusion that I could ask the Dark Lord how long he would be honouring us with his company for.” 

To her, that seemed like nothing. An act of defiance so tiny that it really wasn’t worth mentioning. 

To her surprise, Grubbly-Plank shook her head sadly and said, “Lucius, you stupid boy.”

Lucius took no offence to this. In fact, he smiled ruefully. “Ah, but you see, Narcissa and I had a plan, Wilhemina. Once he was gone, if I could persuade him to take Bellatrix with him, I could revoke Bellatrix’s blood-rights to the Manor and in doing so, seal our house against him. It depended, of course, entirely on your victory against the Dark Lord,” and here he nodded his head graciously at Hermione, “-but Draco gave us every assurance that the three of you would manage it. We would only have to wait the war out.”

Professor Flint did not like where this was going any more than Grubbly-Plank. He spoke up, his face wan. “I say, Lucius, is there any need for this?” 

“Perhaps you are right, Tiberius. After all, Professor Granger has been subjected to the Cruciatus before. She can imagine full well the price my family paid for my defiance, the day I dared ask Lord Voldemort to get out of my house.”

Professor Flint went white as a sheet, and went and sat down in a chair in the corner. Professor Grubbly-Plank heaved herself up out of her spot by the fire and went to him.

Lucius went on deliberately, “The question, Professor Granger, isn’t whether what I did was wrong. By every moral principle it certainly was. The question is, could you have held to the same standards you judge me by, if you were in my position? Could you have resisted the Dark Lord, if he tortured your family before your very eyes?”

Professor Grubbly-Plank had started talking to Professor Flint, though Hermione could not hear what she was saying. 

“But, you see, Professor Granger, I am not an academic. I find it useless to ask questions to which we will never know the answers.” Lucius continued. “You would never allow yourself to be caught in such a situation. No, you wiped your parent’s memories, didn’t you? Better that than to allow them to come to harm.” His eyes softened. “I have always admired you for that.”

Admired her? Him? And then she realised, and her hands bunched up in the fabric of her dress. “How did you know I wiped my parents memories?” 

Lucius gave a bark of laughter. The sound was strangely hollow. “I knew it! It was them, wasn’t it?”

Hermione was too shocked to say a word, but her face must have given it away. 

Lucius seemed to be enjoying himself. “I cannot pretend my motives were entirely selfless, though truth be told, the idea of seeing another living thing suffer even the slightest pain had long since lost any appeal to me. No, the fact was that I had only seen your parents once, years ago, and I could not really be sure it was them. That Memory Charm of yours-! Pure genius. I thought it better to leave them where they were than to risk being wrong. The Dark Lord hated to be disappointed.”

She reeled. A part of her had always suspected that Voldemort must have at least threatened the Malfoys. She remembered the way Voldemort had embraced Draco when Harry had died. The way Draco had sort of hung there, like a fly that had been caught in a web for so long it no longer had the energy to struggle. And Lucius and Narcissa… they hadn’t looked well either. Lucius in particular had looked almost more dead than alive. Hermione had never been sure, but she had suspected. 

But this, this was something she never could have imagined. Lucius Malfoy had spared her parents' lives. Through inaction, through cowardice, perhaps, but still. Because he had been too frightened to give them up, her parents were alive. 

How, and when had it happened? Surely before they had left England. But there had only been a few days between the memory wipe and the day she’d organised for her parents to ‘decide’ to leave the country. It was hard to believe. But how else could he have known? 

More because she wanted to buy herself time to think than anything, Hermione kept talking. “You could have fought him. Surely he wasn’t surrounded by other Death Eaters all the time. Everyone needs to sleep, don’t they? You could have gotten him alone, the three of you, and tried. You couldn’t have killed him, obviously, he had the Horcruxes, but couldn’t you have trapped him, disarmed him, maybe, three on one?”

Lucius actually threw back his head and laughed at her. “Ah, forgive me, Professor Granger. I don’t think you realise quite the nature of Bellatrix’ relationship with the Dark Lord. He never slept alone while he stayed at my Manor, and Bellatrix was a better fighter than all the rest of us put together. We could never have overcome even one of them, let alone both.”

Oh, that was just disgusting. Voldemort and Bellatrix, lovers? It was a sickening thought. Hermione couldn’t imagine either of them feeling such a human emotion as love. It was far easier to think of them as monsters incapable of anything other than hate. “You could have ran away, though. Taken Narcissa and Draco, and left.” 

Lucius looked at her in puzzlement. “Run away? From him?”

More confident, she said, “We did it. Ron, and Harry, and me.”

“We would have been caught.” Lucius said bluntly. “Don’t think I did not consider it. You cannot fathom what it is to be so close to him, to be his hostage. You are remarkable. Brilliant. Forgive us, Professor Granger, for not having your gifts, that make so many things possible for you.”

“They aren’t _gifts_.” Hermione said in a low, furious voice. “I worked very hard for everything I can do. I wasn’t raised knowing everything about magic, like you were.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “Well then, what would _you_ have had me do, Professor Granger? Should I have watched as my family was killed? Morality is very important to you, and rightly so. As a husband and a man, what importance do you place on my moral duty to my family?”

“Your family isn’t more important than the entire Wizarding World, no matter what you might think.” 

She regretted saying it straightaway. Not because it wasn’t true. It was. She regretted saying it because of how naive and idealistic it made her sound. People didn’t work that way. People prioritised those who were close to them over those they hardly knew. It was the way of the world. 

For the sake of being fair, she tried very hard to imagine what she would have done in his position. What would she have done if the Memory Charm had failed, and she hadn’t been able to protect her parents? She tried to imagine what she would say, if the immortal Lord Voldemort had come into her house and held her parents hostage against her. 

She didn’t know. She really didn’t. She liked to think that she could have done the right thing, but she would never know. Not for certain. He was right. For all she knew, in his place, she could have chosen the people she cared about over the greater good. 

With this realisation, Hermione’s anger and her resentment dissipated just the tiniest bit, and perhaps Lucius sensed that, because he said very quietly, “I assure you, Professor Granger, that you cannot conceive of how much I regret joining the Dark Lord. It was the worst mistake of my life.” He leaned forward in his chair, and Hermione had a sense that a curtain was drawing up around them, that although Flint and Grubbly-Plank were only feet away, and all the portraits were watching them in open fascination, they were completely alone. “And let me tell you one thing further, I am sorry for what was done to you in my house.”

It was the most shocking thing he could have said. The open, frank admission of regret and guilt. It shouldn’t have meant as much as it did. They were only words. But Bellatrix was dead, and Voldemort was dead, and Narcissa had well and truly absolved herself. An apology from Lucius Malfoy was the closest thing she would get to what she really wanted. 

Hermione felt her insides bubbling. She wanted to cry. She wanted to leave the room and shout to herself as the memories began to overwhelm her. 

Professor Flint seized the opportunity to get up from his chair, and unknowingly broke the spell. 

“Now, that’s quite enough of that!” Professor Flint exclaimed. “I won’t hear any more of this.”

The intimacy vanished and so did her high, nervous energy, and Lucius turned to Flint and said, “My apologies, Tiberius. I know how it pains you to hear we vaunted, learned Professors speak on important matters. Would you prefer it if Professor Granger and I were at one another’s throats in a few month’s time, as long as we spoke pleasantries to one another's faces?” 

The Ravenclaw Head stood very straight and tall. 

“I’ll have you know, it is a matter of firm tradition that politics are _not_ to be discussed in the Head’s Room! And to actually discuss the Cruciatus Curse in the presence of ladies-!” He waved an indignant hand at Professor Grubbly-Plank, who was not showing the slightest signs of distress, and then at the portraits on the walls. Hermione noted, dryly, that she obviously was not considered a lady. “I expected better of you, Lucius.”

But for all of his bluster, Hermione could see that the Ravenclaw Head was really upset. His manner, usually so elegant and put-together, was harried, and she thought that if he heard another harsh word, he would burst into tears. 

“I’m sorry, Professor Flint. It means a lot to me to be so welcome amongst the staff. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. But Professor Malfoy might have had a point,” Across the room, Lucius looked bemused at this, “Maybe it’s better that we’ve aired it out now.”

Tiberius didn’t reply. He was looking between them nervously. 

Grubbly-Plank finally spoke up, “Oh, Tiberius, isn’t it better for them to talk about it? Would you rather they glare at one another for years on end?” 

“Maybe so, Wilhemina, but I still think it in very bad taste. The past is the past, I say! Let it lie. The future is what I’m interested in.”

The Hufflepuff Head said jovially, “We should toast to it. To future and friendships.”

This made Hermione feel very guilty. She thought that the others might not really want to celebrate her being here at all. 

Sending a reassuring smile at Tiberius, who still did not look quite himself, she suggested, “Out with the old, and in with the new?”

“Quite right, Professor.” Lucius said. He raised his glass, and they all toasted her. Their easy companionship and friendliness made her feel awful. She’d needed to talk about it, and she was glad that they had. Still, the last thing she wanted to do was upset Professor Flint. 

Since she was the one who had derailed the evening, she felt obligated to put things back on track. Inoffensive small talk was not her forte. Struggling for something nice to say, Hermione turned to Professor Flint and said, “I’ve read your theories on Speculative Astrological Contravences. Do you really think there might be exceptions to the proven associations between astral bodies and their earthly counterparts?”

Flint lit up like a Christmas tree. From his corner, she distinctly heard Lucius murmur, “ _Mercy_.”

In a booming voice, the Arithmancer replied, “Proven? I dispute that they _are_ proven. That entire school of thought was conceived of in the Dark Ages.” 

Quietly, Lucius offered, “When it was conceived was irrelevant, if it still stands the test of reason and magic.”

Professor Flint scoffed. “Forgive me, old boy, but theoretical magic is not your strong suit. The aspect of my work Professor Granger is questioning is the effect of knowledge and will on the laws we assume to be true. Who knows what might be done if we ignored what we have been taught and go our own way?”

Lucius frowned and pursed his lips at his patronising manner. Grubbly-Plank laughed heartily at Tiberius and only stopped long enough to tell him off. What sort of teacher made light of teaching? 

To this Tiberius replied, “One whose greatest wish is to be seen as an incompetent fool by his students, in the fullness of time.”

It was an interesting thought, but one Hermione wasn’t quite sure she agreed with. Not completely. If Tiberius honestly wanted to be made obsolete, she thought that was very admirable of him. But Hermione privately _liked_ being the best. She didn’t want future generations to downplay her achievements. _Perhaps I ought to work on that._

As for his theories, the practical applications were endless. “And you think it could work? Even so far as practical magic is concerned?”

“Indeed, my dear girl, under the right conditions I dare say it might be so!” And Tiberius’ woes were forgotten, and Hermione felt much the same. Tiberius and Hermione went down the rabbit hole of theoretical magic; not arguing, exactly, but verbally fencing for the sake of pleasure and expansion of knowledge. 

Lucius and Grubbly-Plank made their own conversation. Hermione listened in every now and again, out of interest. They both had things in their lives they could talk about endlessly. For Lucius Malfoy it was his family, in particular his grand-son, Scorpius. For Grubbly-Plank, it was a particularly clever Salamander Broodmother, who had been giving her trouble for several years now. Thus paired off, the rest of the night flew by. 

When they finally left the Head Club room, Tiberius and Hermione would happily have kept talking, if only Hermione could have stopped yawning long enough to get the words out. Lucius and Grubbly-Plank made polite goodbyes, which Hermione answered with a quick smile and distracted wave. 

All things considered, she _still_ thought tonight had been less explosive and dramatic than her birthdays with the Weasleys had been. She found herself preferring the authenticity of the night compared to the fanfare she had become accustomed to.

She believed that communication could cross almost any boundary. Better to risk an argument, than to smile and smooth over issues that, as Lucius had said, would only fester and become worse over time.

She had learned that the hard way, with Ron. 

Later, as she brushed her hair in the mirror, she mused to herself that friendships were strange things. Some grew out of adversity or sheer dumb luck, like with Ron and Harry. Some were born out of common interests and intellectual pursuits. Others were the result of simple kindness, such as what Grubbly-Plank had shown her. 

Only time would tell which ones would hold, and which would fail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, that was a bit intense. But worth it, I think. 
> 
> Your reviews mean the world to me, please keep them coming! I love reading what you all think!
> 
> This next stretch of the story has a few chapters that need some work, but I think you'll enjoy them! We'll try to get next chapter to you in a week as per usual.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and see you next time!


	4. All's Fair in Love and Quidditch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! 
> 
> Thank you so much, again, to everyone who is reading and reviewing, it means a lot to me!
> 
> I feel like I should explain right at the outset that chapters four and five are technically one biiiiig chapter that I have split into two. I just didn't want to have a 10k chapter, and I didn't think you'd want one either!
> 
> Editing-wise, this chapter was a real challenge, so I want to give my editor, JessariOfErebor, for all the work she's put in. Thank you for everything you do!
> 
> P.S This chapter is lovingly dedicated to the third member of Jason Isaacs' marriage... Liverpool Football Club. 
> 
> Read on, and enjoy!

Hermione’s fledgling truce with Lucius Malfoy faced its first real challenge on the day Slytherin’s Quidditch match with Gryffindor was announced on the school news board. 

Even this early in the morning, a Quidditch match was enough to bring a little excitement into the student body. Everyone had something to say about it. Even the seventh years broke their normal facades of aloof calm long enough to chatter with each other about it.

The subject made the rounds at the staff table as well. 

For the first time since the Sorting Ceremony, Augusta Longbottom wore her silver and grey scarf. Gryffindor had won their first match of the year so decisively that they were far ahead of all the other Houses. Augusta was giving Lucius some very pointed tips on how to crush the Gryffindor team. Lucius listened, his face a study in solicitude. He could hardly have avoided listening to her; the witch was sitting right next to him and she was speaking quite loudly. 

The Defence Against the Dark Arts professor wrapped it all up in her usual domineering way, “You’re Head of House, Lord Malfoy. This is our chance to win back some House pride.”

Hermione gave the Potions Professor a flickering glance, the kind where it happened by pure instinct. When their eyes met, they both averted their gaze. Having only had their discussion in the Head Club a few days prior, they were still a little unsure on how to behave around each other. As if they were walking on eggshells that weren’t there. Being Coaches of two opposing teams would hardly help matters. 

The other staff members were excited about the match too, though very nervous about how the students would handle it. Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalries could be heated at the best of times. Since the war, this had only gotten worse.

Sinistra had to raise her voice to be heard over the commotion. “I don’t envy your position, Professor Granger.”

Hermione looked at her curiously. “Why not?”

“You’re an academic. By definition, academics devote themselves to the rigours of the mind. I myself had very little interest in Quidditch when I was a student. It’s only in recent years that I’ve come to appreciate it.”

Professor Sinistra couldn’t have said anything much more controversial if she’d tried. Several teachers, Lucius Malfoy included, turned to her in various states of surprise and, in Hooch’s case, outright betrayal. 

Minerva only chuckled, though. “I remember. Even on match days, you would spend your days in the library.”

Hermione had nothing against Quidditch at all. Providing she wasn’t expected to play it herself, of course. She’d quite enjoyed watching the matches. Like all sports, Quidditch was just as much about tactics as it was about physical abilities. Even moreso, perhaps. From a social perspective, it had been a prudent decision for a muggleborn like herself to go to the games. Refusing to go to matches would have been social suicide. So Hermione had gone whenever Harry had flown and had attended most of the other games too. 

Hermione asked Professor Sinistra, “I don’t mind, really. I’ve always liked Quidditch. What changed your mind?” 

The Astronomy gazed fondly over the children, who were chatting eagerly amongst themselves as they finished their breakfasts. “The students. Watching how much they enjoy it. Quidditch is one of the things that helped to bring the school back to life.”

Hermione knew exactly what she meant. Despite winning the war, times afterward had felt dark and full of uncertainty. Most had felt lost, and having Quidditch’s energetic influence had certainly helped alleviate much of the students’ lingering fear.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Once the initial excitement of the announcement wore off, Hermione started feeling a bit worried. It was embarrassing, but she hadn’t made much time for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. She’d basically left the entire thing in the hands of the Captain, a Sixth Year girl named Beatrice McCormack, reasoning that Beatrice was fully capable of handling the training and didn’t need her butting in. All Hermione had really done for the team was make sure the field was available for them to practice on at least once or twice a week. 

This had seemed perfectly fine at the time. She was still very new to her role, and the work was never-ending as it was. Truthfully, the most important thing to her was that her students were doing well at their classes and handing in their homework on time. But now that the team was up against Slytherin, old habits came to the fore, and she suddenly found that she very much wanted Gryffindor to win. If there was anything she could do to help the team, she should do it. It occurred to her that there was someone who was both perfectly suited to help her, and perfectly willing to help her. 

Hermione found Neville in the greenhouses. He had shucked his robes and wore a shirt and trousers. He bent over the planting beds, wearing a pair of gardening gloves that were muddy up to the elbows.

He was also still eating his breakfast. As a father, he ate breakfast at his family home in Hogsmeade every morning. Unfortunately, his infant daughter had a habit of making breakfasts a difficult business, and poor Neville rarely got the chance to eat. So Neville Longbottom planted his seedlings with a piece of toast hanging out of his mouth. There was something so… _Nevilleish_ about the sight that Hermione couldn’t help a giggle escaping her. 

Neville glanced up from his work, saw her, and quickly bolted down the last of his toast. Without the aid of his hands, this was not a particularly attractive process.

“Hermione!” He exclaimed, “What are you doing here? Do you need any plants for your class?”

Hermione shook her head, but picked up a trowel. Since she was here, the least she could do was help. Pleased, Neville handed her a basket filled to the brim with Whistleleaf bulbs, and together they started planting.

Neville gave her instructions on where he wanted each bulb planted as they went, but he didn’t exactly need to. As absentminded as he could be in so many other ways, Neville’s greenhouses were laid out so well that no-one could have found fault with them. As she worked, Hermione felt her mind wander. It was actually... quite nice. It felt good to forget about everything and just focus on the soil and the pleasant smell of green, growing things. She’d missed it. Before she’d applied to be Charms Professor, she’d lived in a London flat. It had been close to Diagon Alley, very posh, but it hadn’t had a garden. The closest she’d been able to get was a few hanging baskets on the balcony. Herbology had never been her favourite subject by any means, but she enjoyed greenery as much as the next person. 

The planting was also quite demanding. Before long, the muscles of her arms were burning. It had been too long since she'd had to do any kind of manual labour. 

She sat up to wipe the sweat from her forehead and, noticing that she was tired, Neville offered her a flask of tea, which she gratefully accepted. 

She took the opportunity to explain, “Actually Neville, I came to ask your advice.”

“My advice?” Neville asked. He seemed really taken aback, which she supposed was natural. Neville had always been humble. “On what?” 

“Well, I’m sure you’ve heard the news. Gryffindor has a match against Slytherin coming up, and it’s my first match as Coach. You were Quidditch Coach for years before I joined the staff. Do you have any suggestions? What do you think of the Slytherin team?”

Neville's forehead screwed up in thought. Slowly, he replied, “Well, one of their Chasers is Hannah’s niece. Mary Abbot. There’s something about her-” 

Hermione’s ears perked up. This was it. This was the edge she needed. “Go on?”

“I don’t think she really enjoys Herbology. Her grades aren’t bad, but I can’t seem to really get her interested, you know?”

Right then. No help from there, then. 

Hopefully, he asked, “Did you want to see the Jumping Geraniums? They're pretty lively today.”

“Thanks Neville, I’d love to.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Hermione marched down to the Quidditch pitch with the whole team behind her. It wasn’t common that the coach should come and watch them practice, and the Gryffindors were puffed up with pride, and more than a little nervous, to have her with them. 

Beatrice had them up in the air and doing laps in short order. Timed nose dives and barrel rolls first, before working up to the more complicated maneuvers. Hermione had brought some papers to mark, just in case, but she found she didn’t need to. The practice was fun to watch. 

At some point, she noticed a crowd of students holding brooms watching them from just beyond the pitch. Among them stood Professor Malfoy. He was a fair distance away, but his platinum hair made him unmistakable. 

It shouldn’t be possible for a smile to be reptilian, since reptiles couldn’t smile. But every now and then, Lucius Malfoy managed it. 

He was smiling that way now, as she approached. 

“Professor Malfoy. The Gryffindor team has booked the pitch.” She said it in a way that brooked no argument. She had made no mistake. 

“Of course, and the Slytherin team has booked it for a session after yours. We are simply here early.”

“It’s a bit late for a practice session, isn’t it?” Hermione challenged. And it was; the sun was going down. 

“Professor Granger…” Her eyes narrowed at him, and he gave her a benevolent smile. “The match is only days away. It only makes sense to get in as much practice as possible.”

Hermione didn’t believe it for a second. He could be here to watch them, which she supposed was fair enough. It only made sense that he would want to assess the competition. But when she’d been a student, Slytherin had been known for more underhanded tactics; distracting the opposing team, or even outright name calling and nasty chants to lower morale. 

She hoped that that sort of thing was beneath him. She wanted to believe the best in him. But if there was even a chance that the Slytherins were here with the intent to sabotage... Hermione was having none of it.

“Can I have a word with you, Professor Malfoy?”

He raised an eyebrow but fell into step behind her as she walked a little distance away from the team.

As soon as they were out of earshot, she said, “I hope you know how important it is that, as Heads of House, you and I set a good example for the students. You can’t seriously expect me to believe that you’re here to practice. If you want to watch the Gryffindor team, you know I can’t stop you. But if any of your students try to distract mine, I’ll report you to Hooch.”

“Professor Granger, I assure you, nothing could be further from my mind than antagonising you. You have my word, my team will be as quiet as mice.”

“Wonderful.” She said, but she was thinking, _they’d better be._

The practice was nearly over, and the remainder of it was devoted almost entirely to Felicity Brightwood, their Seeker. 

In Felicity Brightwood, Gryffindor had once again managed to secure a Seeker of uncommon ability. A third year who lived and breathed Quidditch, she was probably the best flier to grace Hogwarts since Ginny. When Gryffindor played, talent scouts from almost every British team came to watch her.

Hermione watched with real pleasure as the rest of the team put Felicity through her paces. They pelted Bludgers at her while she did laps of the field. They sent a charmed practice-Snitch to all sorts of difficult places; the nooks and crannies in the stands, directly behind her head, and inches above the ground. Felicity caught it every time. She was fantastically sharp and absolutely fearless. 

“Miss Brightwood is an incredible flyer.” Lucius said. There was no sourness in his voice, which surprised her. Perhaps Lucius Malfoy genuinely enjoyed the sport for its own sake. Or perhaps he simply enjoyed a challenge. 

Felicity _was_ an incredible flyer, for all that she was a muggleborn. And thanks to the new rules surrounding Hogwarts Quidditch, social status and money no longer held the same sway over the pitch that it once had. When Ginny had joined the board of Directors, she’d made sure that the school brooms were of an acceptable standard. This had been a very expensive endeavour, and after a bit of digging Hermione had found out that some of the funds had been donated from Harry and Ginny’s vault directly. Either way, Ginny had done what she set out to do. It didn’t matter what the family broom was, on the Quidditch pitch you could fly a Slipstream or a Cirrus Two. As long as you could prove to Hooch that you could handle it, that is. 

“When I was at school,” Hermione said, “a girl like Felicity, with no broom at home, wouldn’t have had much chance to hone her skills. She probably would have been thrown off of an old Comet and been too scared to get back on.”

Lucius inclined his head in agreement.

“Most likely. She is a muggleborn, I believe?” 

Hermione nodded. “I remember lots of people opposed the decision to ban league standard brooms and invest more money into increasing the overall quality of the school brooms.” 

Lucius shifted uncomfortably, undoubtedly remembering buying Draco’s entire team Nimbus 2001s. “If you are asking if I opposed it, you would be mistaken. It was a wise move.”

As they watched, Felicity flipped over backwards to catch the Snitch on its zigzagging path. The Gryffindor team whooped at such an impressive display of flying. The Slytherins, however, did not look happy.

As if to himself, Lucius mused, “I think we often underestimate how much bravery it would take to get on a broomstick at the age of eleven, for those who are unused to it. It does muggleborns great credit to see so many of them excel on the pitch.” 

* * *

  
  


Things were starting to get tense as the days flew by. Soon the match was only a week away. 

The determination of the faculty (not to mention the Prefects, Head Girls and Head Boys) had reduced the usual pre-match psychological warfare and sabotage to a bare minimum. There were a number of suspicious accidents, always affecting prominent team members, but it was nothing that a few of Madame Pomfrey’s potions couldn’t cure. 

Despite her best efforts, Hermione wasn’t completely above petty displays; granted, of course, that no one got hurt. It was lunch in the Great Hall, and she found herself unable to hold it in any longer. 

Raising her voice just enough so that it could be heard up and down the staff table, but no further, she brightly said, “It’s just, well, it’s not going to be a very good game, is it?”

Lucius did not even ask her what she was talking about. He slowly folded up his paper, put it down, and leaned forward just enough to meet her eyes from his seat further down the table. 

“And why is that, Professor Granger?”

She laid it out for him, somewhat surprised that she had to explain it after he’d seen the Gryffindor team practice. Breathlessly, she explained that Slytherin had no chance. She had done a very in depth assessment of the Slytherin team, and while their lineup wasn’t bad by any means, the difference in points between Slytherin and Gryffindor were so great that unless the Chasers pulled off some sort of miracle they ought not to bother even turning up. 

The rest of the staff said nothing, but she could tell that they agreed. The Slytherin players were by no means poor fliers. They could hold up perfectly well against the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff teams, but against Gryffindor? Everyone knew it; Slytherin had no hope. 

“Certainly you are right.” Professor Malfoy said in an agreeable sort of way, his grey eyes calm. “And yet, I think, Slytherin will be victorious.”

The way he said it was infuriating. So dismissive of logic and the rules of the game. 

“But Slytherin _can’t_ win, Professor Malfoy. I’ve just explained it.”

“I am sure you think so. I will delight in surprising you.”

  
  


* * *

At last, the morning of the match came. Hermione opened the curtains and gasped in dismay. A thick fog had rolled in, burying the usually beautiful view under a grey blanket. She could barely even see past her window. 

The conditions, simply put, were the worst they possibly could have been for the Gryffindor team. As long as Brightwood could see the Snitch, they would win. No-one disputed that. But this fog… For the first time, Hermione felt doubt. 

The mood in the castle was a particular mixture of adolescent aggression, tension, and hope so typical of Quidditch match mornings. Even if she hadn’t known the players of both teams by sight, she would have been able to pick them out. They couldn’t eat, but couldn’t lift their eyes up from their plates either. Grey-faced, bursting into brittle laughter at the slightest provocation. In this, the members of both teams were the same. 

Madame Hooch, however, was totally immune to the aura of dread and nerves all around her. She buttered her toast with verve and slurped her tea with relish. 

“This morning’s weather is very bad for that game of yours, isn’t it?” Flint remarked absently. Flint was notoriously disinterested in Quidditch, so Hermione tried very hard not to hold this against him. 

Lucius did not miss a beat. He looked almost... _jolly_. “Only if one’s team is totally relying on their Seeker to win the game for them.”

Hermione levelled a poisonous glare at the Potions Professor. Honestly, she had been willing to let the whole thing go, but now she thought of it… 

“Isn’t it funny that yesterday there were no signs of fog at all, and today it’s so bad?” Her voice grated, even to her ears. She’d wanted to sound carefree, but she wasn’t a good actress. 

“One can never fully predict the weather, Professor Granger.” Lucius said sanctimoniously. 

Hermione forced a smile, clenching her teeth so hard that her jaw started to hurt. “ _Actually_ , yes I can and my weather chart said nothing about fog today.”

“It would seem that your chart needs a little fine tuning.”

“It would seem that your sense of fair play needs _a lot_ of fine tuning-”

Minerva interrupted in a sharp voice. “If you are implying that Professor Malfoy has interfered with the weather in any way, Professor Granger, I can assure you that he hasn’t. The entire highlands is just as badly affected. Professor Malfoy doesn’t have the Charms mastery such a feat would require.”

“Thank you for that resounding vote of confidence, Headmistress.” Lucius said wryly. 

“It’s just bad weather.” Hooch said. “With the right amount of skill, victory is always possible.”

* * *

Hermione gave the team a few final words of encouragement, then made her way to the stands. 

The teachers, as a rule, generally took seats in the main stand. The immense scaffolding, covered with cloth emblazoned with the House sigils and the Hogwarts symbol, afforded the best view of the pitch. Hermione looked up and down the benches, looking for empty spaces. As was typical for a Gryffindor-Slytherin match, attendance was high. 

A thought struck her. She noticed that no-one was sitting on either side of Lucius. Whether it was pure coincidence or because no-one wanted to sit beside him, it didn’t matter. An opportunity was an opportunity. 

It seemed silly to miss a chance to gather intelligence. A lot could be gained from watching his reactions to the match. If she could figure out anything about his tactics, she could pass it along to Beatrice as soon as she got the chance. 

She picked her way through to where he sat. “Professor Malfoy,” She said in a friendly sort of way, “Is this seat taken?”

He was surprised, but didn’t seem suspicious. That was good. “Certainly not. Please, make yourself comfortable.”

The game began. Hermione fished out a pair of enchanted glasses from her handbag; they were in a glamorous, cat-eye style, but charmed with magnifying capabilities. She slipped them on, and the pitch came into incredible definition. Even despite the fog, she could still see clearly. 

Everyone took their positions; Seekers soaring up and up, Keepers steadfast. The Beaters swung their bats, and the Chasers flowed into formation with seamless grace.

Hermione had come intending to keep a cool head, but when Gryffindor’s Chasers sent the Quaffle through the Slytherin hoops twice within the space of a few short minutes, she joined most of the crowd in leaping up out of her seat and cheering. 

“A fine move.” Lucius said, and Hermione didn’t disagree. 

The game went on. Hermione’s enchanted glasses were in constant use. She resisted every impulse to watch her own team members, and focussed on three key people; Lucius Malfoy (from the corner of her eye, all while using some preternatural ability to avoid shifting her body at all), the Slytherin Captain (a sixth-year Beater), and their Seeker. 

The Slytherin playing style struck her as strange right away. The Beaters didn’t seem to care about the Gryffindor Chasers. They only sent the Bludgers after Felicity. They would cross from one end of the field to the next, just to get a shot at her. Thus uninhibited, the Gryffindor Chasers scored more and more points and the difference became astronomical. 

The crowd was losing their minds. Gryffindor was leading a hundred and forty to Slytherins thirty. Hermione wasn’t cheering anymore. It was just too strange. Obviously most Beaters focussed on opposing Seekers to some degree, but certainly not to this extent. Even the Slytherin _Chasers_ kept finding themselves in Felicity’s way. They weren’t bothering with the Quaffle at all. 

Lucius was up to something. She needed to find out what. 

Her suspicions were confirmed when the Snitch flew within eyesight of the Slytherin Seeker. Hermione _saw_ the flash in his eyes as he looked at it, and watched him fly right past it, stopping only long enough to obscure the Snitch from the sight of the Gryffindor Seeker. 

A chance like that came up once in every game, if at all. That had been their opportunity to catch the Snitch and at least lose with distinction. 

But he hadn’t taken it, and Lucius had seen it. She knew he had. His body had shifted ever so slightly beside her when the sunlight had flashed off of it.

Hermione cursed herself for not seeing it sooner. The late night practice, his certainty that Slytherin could win, the strange tactics. Hermione needed to speak with the team. 

About an hour later, the Slytherin Keeper took an injury and a timeout was called.

Hermione took the opportunity for a quick talk with the team. 

“I think I’ve worked out what he’s doing.” Hermione said. “They know their points aren’t high enough to give them any chance at the Cup if they win the normal way, so they’re going to drag the match out. I think we’re going to have to play throughout the night.”

The Gryffindor team looked at her in oddly identical expressions of outrage. 

Their Keeper, Aaron Payne, said flatly, “They can’t.” 

It wasn’t as if she didn’t understand their anger. The Snitch was practically impossible to see at night, and the damned fog made it even worse... 

“They can, actually. Alright,” Hermione said in a business-like tone, “What’s the longest game anyone here has ever played?”

There was a horrible silence. 

“Um.” Beatrice said. 

Hermione took in the feet shuffling, the red faces, the averted gazes. 

Beatrice couldn’t finish, and Hermione’s heart hit the floor. 

Aaron rushed to say, “This just isn’t done anymore! Quidditch games don’t last for days, it hasn’t been like that for years! They’re only doing it because they know their Seeker can’t outfly ours-” 

“Well obviously, but right now that doesn’t help us very much, does it?” Hermione held up a hand to quell their chattering, and thought it through. She didn’t have many options. She hated to admit it, but Malfoy had put them in a very difficult position. 

Hermione looked to Felicity. The young Seeker was already drooping. The constant threat of the Bludgers had put her under a lot of strain. Hours of flying around blind as a bat, knowing that her entire House was counting on her had only made things worse. She was only twelve, for goodness’ sake. Hermione wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep going under these conditions. 

Nicholas Hawthorn, one of their Chasers, asked timidly. “How long are they going to fly for?” 

Hermione swallowed a sigh. She had to seem confident. “As long as it takes. Lucius, that is, Professor Malfoy, is very proud.”

Following that train of thought, she realised that Lucius’ pride would have made it impossible to publicly put any effort into his position as Coach unless he thought the Slytherin team _could_ win. He had never been a man to enter the spotlight. No, Lucius Malfoy liked to hide in the shadows, right up until he was certain that he could step forward and take all the credit. 

“What are we supposed to do?” Aaron asked. “We’ve been playing for hours.” 

That was obvious. “We have to get the Snitch before their Chasers can get their points up high enough. And don’t worry about being tired. I’ve got an idea.”

  
  


* * *

Hermione let herself into the potions storeroom, heart hammering in her chest. 

She knew she ought to feel guilty about this. But considering that Malfoy wasn’t playing fair, it was almost her _duty_ to make sure the Gryffindor team had every chance of winning. 

_Alohamora_ didn’t do the trick, but maybe she shouldn’t have expected that it would. Malfoy couldn’t keep her out for long, though. Thirty seconds and four broken locking charms later, she was in. 

She rifled through the potions storage cupboard shamelessly. Her eyes roved right past the more exotic potions ingredients and right to the bottles of pre-made potions, labelled with an elegant cursive she assumed must have been his. 

There- a rack of Eye-Openers. The favourite potion of students cramming for exams. _Or Professors marking papers,_ she admitted to herself. They were about as strong as a cup of coffee, but much tastier. Eye-Openers wouldn’t make her team fly faster, or see any clearer, but they would at least help keep them awake for a little longer. Long enough, hopefully, for Felicity to catch the Snitch. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The sun went down, and a break for dinner was called. 

Hermione gave the team the potions, which they took gratefully. She hoped it would be enough. She urged (she refused to think of it as nagged) them to eat their dinner when it was brought to them. They would need their strength. 

Since the players couldn’t leave the field until the game was over, very few students were willing to leave the stands. Therefore, Minerva organised for food to be brought to those who stayed. Over three hundred people, including friends, family, and Quidditch enthusiasts. 

The food appeared on trays and platters on their laps. The novelty of eating in the stands, even if it was freezing cold and so dark they couldn’t have seen their plates without the aid of magic, brought a bit of cheer back to the spectators. 

Beside her, Lucius Malfoy was making polite conversation. In fact, it was better than polite. He was being _nice._

It was wasted on her. Hermione did not particularly want to be nice to Lucius Malfoy at the moment. What should have been a clear cut victory now hung in the balance, and it was all his fault. She knew she wasn’t being particularly fair. She shouldn’t resent Lucius for being resourceful and clever.

“This takes me back.” Lucius said as he delicately put down his knife and fork. “I remember a match much like this one in my fifth year. We camped out in the stands for four days in the middle of exam time. Slughorn- he was Potions Professor back in my day- made us revise for the whole thing. Every time someone fell off their broom he’d be standing there, quizzing us. We could hardly hear a word he said over all the chanting.”

Hermione managed a non-commital, “Mm-hm.” 

“And yourself? Were there any particular matches you enjoyed in your student days?”

“Let’s see.” Hermione said, “There was the time Harry almost got knocked off his broom by Quirrel, the time he got attacked by Dementors-” She could have gone on, but cut herself short. She’d made her point. Lucius went silent. 

Hermione cast a warming charm over herself, hoping the team's robes would be enough to protect them from the cool night air. 

  
  


* * *

As soon as dinner was over, the match resumed. 

There was a gust of wind, the fog shifted- Felicity caught sight of the Snitch. Hermione saw it, Lucius saw it. 

The golden winged ball was flitting around, right in the path of the two Slytherin Beaters. 

It was if Hermione could read the young witch’s mind. Visibility was practically zero. There was no guarantee that she would see it again before Slytherin got their points up high enough that it didn’t matter. 

Felicity took the risk. She went for it. She flew across the pitch like an arrow, perfectly flush with her broom. She turned sharply to avoid an incredulous Slytherin Chaser, and she was almost there. The Beaters saw, manoeuvred into position and-

The results were devastating. Brightwood performed a few fantastic rolls in the air, and dodged the first bludger, but the second clipped her and smashed into her broom. She went down mere centimeters from the Snitch, shrieking in pain from her broken wrist. Lucius gave a sympathetic wince.

Hermione leapt up, wand at the ready. Her cushioning charm caught the Seeker. Her replacement was sent, visibly shaking, into the field. 

Felicity’s defeat was all the Slytherins needed. For the first time, they focussed on bridging the gap in points. 

“You see, Hermione, Miss Brightwood is really very good.” Lucius said as she watched, aghast. “Truthfully, our Seeker is simply no match, so we had no choice but to… innovate.”

The Slytherin Chaser rolled up and over a Bludger and scored another goal, and Hermione ground her teeth. 

The crowd roared; part dismay and part shock. Above it all, a chant was rising from the emerald and silver stands, _“Go, go, Slytherin! Go, go, Slytherin!”_

The commentator was screaming into his microphone, “Mary Abbot has the Quaffle- come on, Aaron- argh, Slytherin scores another ten points!”

If it had been any other team, she thought the Gryffindors would have given up there and then. The children were exhausted, completely demoralised. They didn’t give up, though. Hermione knew how close to breaking they were, but she was still proud to see how well they flew. They made the Slytherins work for every goal and scored a few of their own. They played like their lives were on the line, resolutely ignoring the growing chants and keeping it together, even though she knew that they must be desperate to call it off and give up. 

It was no use. About an hour later, the Slytherin Seeker caught the Snitch. 

* * *

Hermione and Lucius made their way onto the field. The tension in the air was a physical thing. Midnight had long since come and gone, and the spectators were almost as tired and miserable as the fliers. 

Hundreds of angry students watched as Hermione and Lucius faced one another, with their respective team Captains beside them. 

Madame Hooch pressed her wand to her throat and said, “Well, some pretty clever moves from both teams, no arms or legs broken too badly, all in all quite a nice game. Slytherin wins by a hundred and forty points!”

At these words, pretty much every student who wasn’t a member of House Slytherin made their displeasure known. Hermione groaned internally at Hooch’s lack of sensitivity. Hooch was totally blind to any sort of politics.

Hermione turned her full attention on Lucius and held out her hand. “Well done.” She said, putting as much warmth into her voice as she could. “They flew brilliantly.”

And they had. They were an excellent team. Hermione tried to think, not about how Gryffindor had lost, but how both teams had tried their best, and how proud the Slytherin team looked of themselves. They stood, third years alongside seventh years, arms over one another's shoulders. The Captain, in particular, looked dead on his feet but exuberant. 

Lucius took her hand and shook it firmly. Pride flushed his cheeks and he looked back over his students with an air of satisfaction. 

“They are superb, aren’t they?”

The students in the stands took their handshake and obvious friendliness as some sort of dismissal. At the very least, it was a sign that they didn’t need to immediately start fighting one another. Slowly, they started filing out of the stadium. 

“Good game, Professor. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a victory party to supervise. It’s come to my attention that the members of my House intend to set off some sort of firework in the Common Room.”

Hermione made a sympathetic noise, then did a double-take when she realised where the Slytherin Common Room was. 

“Ah, I see you understand the danger! Yes, there is a reason we are known for cunning, rather than common sense.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


The sun rose on a student body divided by exhaustion, sulkiness, and pure euphoria. Thankfully, morning classes were cancelled. 

It was a good day to be a Slytherin. Their victory had secured them first place in the Inter-House cup, if only by a handful of points. Green and silver banners had sprung up all over the school overnight. They were draped across doorways, statues, even the moving staircases. The chandeliers were choked with tinsel. The Great Hall was an absolute mess of green and silver confetti. 

Upon seeing this, the Caretaker was absolutely furious. Barry Lynch had replaced Filch about a year before Hermione had started teaching. He was a sweet, kind young man, but he had absolutely no tolerance towards anything that might be construed as disrespect to his beloved castle. Minerva, feeling a little uncharitable after the loss to her House, set all the Slytherins to helping him clean up. But even this couldn’t daunt them. As it turned out, a Slytherin could clean _and_ sing Quidditch songs at the same time. 

Hermione couldn’t be too upset. The Slytherin team had worked very hard for their victory. They should be allowed to enjoy it. Gryffindor had put too much of their hopes on their Seeker, after all, an error that they couldn’t afford to repeat. Their backup Seeker would need more training.

One loss didn’t mean they’d lost the Cup, after all. They were still in second place. Hermione found herself smiling. Malfoy could innovate, could he? Well, she _was_ an inventor. She was sure she could think of some strategy to counter his, now that she knew what he was about. 

Her office was just about the only place in the school where she could be safe from hearing about the match, so she went straight back there after breakfast. Atlas dropped a letter on her desk. _‘Professor H. Granger’_ was written in an elegant, flowing script on the envelope. 

She opened it, and began to read.

  
  


_Professor Granger,_

  
  


_I am afraid you must prepare yourself for terrible news._

_I was preparing for class when I discovered that my stock cupboard had been broken into. Upon taking inventory, it became clear that I had been robbed._

_Given the state of the youth of today, this would not be such a shock, if not for the fact that I had invested a great deal of time and effort into charming that cupboard to be nigh-unbroachable. The charmwork on the hinges alone, I flatter myself to think, might have given a seasoned Auror trouble._

_So you see, I find myself at a loss. I am quite unable to think of_ **_a single student in this entire school_ ** _who would be capable of managing such a feat._

_Being Charms Professor, I trust that you would be infinitely more aware of your students’ abilities in this regard than I. Should you manage to locate this spectacular thief, I would be curious to know what on earth prompted their adolescent mind to overlook two vials of amortentia, a rack of Potions for Most Excellent Beauty, and countless other rare (and expensive) potion ingredients, all in favour of a few bottles of Eye-Openers._

_With bated breath,_

  
  


_Lucius A. Malfoy_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> I will try to update before the week is out, as I feel that two-part chapters should be released a bit closer together where possible. Of course, I don't want to rush and compromise the quality of the chapters, but if I can get the chapter ready in less than a week, I will!
> 
> As always, your questions, thoughts, feelings, are all so welcome! Reviews mean the world to me. 
> 
> Also, I wanted you guys to know that there is a Halloween chapter coming up! Not sure if any of you love Halloween but if you do... get ready!
> 
> See you all next time!


	5. The Crystal Attic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a huge thank you to all the beautiful souls who read and reviewed the last chapter, it's very much appreciated. 
> 
> As previously mentioned, this chapter is basically the continuation of last chapter, which is why it's up a bit sooner than usual! 
> 
> A big thank you to my editor, JessariOfErebor: We snatching commas, not wigs. 
> 
> Read on, and I hope you enjoy!

As Head of House, Hermione was entitled to attend the school board meetings. 

The first one of the term was scheduled for a Friday afternoon, right after her last class. The time came, the students streamed out of the classroom, and she followed suit. But where they went outside to enjoy a brief bit of sunshine or to the Library to study before the Dinner feast, Hermione went all the way up to the sixth floor of the Grand Staircase Tower to the Legacy room, where the board meeting was to be held. 

The Legacy room was rarely used in modern times. It had no windows, and therefore no view, and the stairs were notoriously bad. To make things worse, Peeves was known to frequent it. 

Despite its many disadvantages, the Legacy room was still where Hogwarts tended to receive its most important visitors. The reason for this became immediately obvious as soon as one entered the room. 

The stone walls were covered in carvings. Along the righthand side of the room was an immense relief of the Founders sculpted into the stone. The figures were immobile, which surprised her, until she realised that the piece must be old enough that either such magic wasn’t popular, or simply hadn’t been developed yet. It was theorised that these reliefs had been carved within living memory of the Founders themselves. That alone would have made the room a treasure, but the rest of the room was almost as wonderful. Dragons, sphynxes, hypogriffs and fairies, all were immortalised. The creatures looked so real, Hermione almost expected to see them breathe. Here and there stood a witch or wizard, wand aloft. 

It was beautiful. 

Hermione had read about it, but had never had the privilege of seeing it in person. Even prefects and Head Girls had to apply for permission to come here. Hermione had never had time. 

No other likeness drew her attention as Godric did. He was strange even amidst all the other strangeness. A giant, barbarous man, with a sword in one hand, a wand in the other. He was leaning backwards in a fit of laughter. 

As the other Board members started filing in, Hermione snatched a guilty hand away from the stone. 

The Board was made up of appointed members, usually chosen by the Minister for Magic. Ginny was one of those. Then there were the honourary members, which included herself and the other Head of Houses. The final Board member was Minerva. As headmistress, she didn’t need to be appointed by anyone. 

Everyone sat down at a granite table that took up most of the space. Minerva sat at one end and Holly Goldberry, a low-ranking Ministry official, sat at the other. Hermione joined them, and after the bare minimum amount of polite smalltalk, the meeting began. 

Hermione didn’t want to make waves, at least not yet. So as the afternoon went on, she took notes and jotted things down as they came to her.

If this meeting was anything to go by, she thought she would enjoy them very much. Reports on the progress of the cohort. The finances of the school were gone over in meticulous detail. They were doing well. Better than they had in many years, in fact. Kingsley had secured more funding for the school and their only real additional expense was the pay of the House Elves, which, at the House Elves' insistence, was minimal. 

School security was brought up, and for the first time, Hermione’s opinion was specifically asked for. She, Minerva and Flickwick had been responsible for improving the barriers at Hogwarts in light of Shacklebolt’s decision to remove the Dementors from Azkaban. The Board made it very clear that any further resources she needed were hers for the asking. 

Not for the first time, she gathered, the topic of installing a Floo network gateway at the school was brought up and summarily dismissed. Even in these times of peace, the school wasn’t prepared to take the risk. 

Lucius, she saw, was absent. This struck her as unusual. As a Head of House he had every right to be there. Perhaps he had decided to take a step back from politics. Regardless, no-one questioned his absence, so Hermione assumed it was normal. 

Finally, the meeting came to a close. The clock-tower chimed seven. She wouldn’t have believed it. 

Ginny caught her on the staircase. The redhead linked her arm through hers with easy camaraderie. 

“Urgh. I’m shattered. Want to go out for drinks?” 

Laughing, Hermione said, “I think you need a good night’s sleep, Ginny, not a drink.”

Ginny disagreed. “No, I’m serious, Hermione. After what we’ve just gone through, I think we’ve earned it. Come on, it’s not as if you had any other plans.”

Actually, she had. Today was Friday, which meant the Head Club. But no one else would turn up for an hour or two yet and besides, she didn’t want to refuse Ginny. It had been far too long since they had caught up. 

Hermione smiled and said, “Alright, where are we going?”

It turned out that they were going to a bar in Diagon Alley. Hermione was content to follow. Along the way down the streets, someone shouted out her name, and Hermione turned to see Padma and Parvarti Patil. 

“Where are you two off to?” Padma asked, juggling her many shopping bags with expert precision to face Hermione directly. 

“We’re going out drinking.” Ginny said matter-of-factly. “Do you two have anything else on, or…?”

The two witches laughed and joined them, only asking where they were going. 

By the time they had gone about fifty feet down Diagon Alley, they had seen just about every witch of their age they had anything to do with. They invited most of them. In the end, Fleur, Cho, Angelina and Luna came along too, leaving a plethora of bemused and stranded partners in their wake. 

Their destination turned out to be a bar called the Crystal Attic. As its name suggested, it had obviously been converted from an attic into the elegant establishment it was today. The bar itself was a sheet of blue glass, the walls silvery white, and shine-sprites danced in the crystal of the chandeliers. The effect was strange; like they were just beneath the surface of the sea. 

The witches were immediately seated at the main table by an awestruck waiter. Those of them that had coats were relieved of them. Hermione felt a little underdressed in her professor’s robes, then reminded herself that being a teacher at Hogwarts was as highly regarded as any other position in the country, and more than most. 

“Interesting place.” Ginny said. 

“Should we all be out here, drinking in public?” Luna said absently. “I mean, we’re all sort of important people.”

Luna was right. They _were_ all important people. Angelina and Ginny were both Captains of their own League teams. Luna was a prime academic in the field of magical creatures. Parvati and Parvarti were on the British duelling team. It was widely agreed that the two of them would probably secure the British team a place in the finals next year. Cho was training to be an Auror under Harry, and Fleur was steadily climbing the ranks at Gringotts. 

“I have eet on good authority that Cornelius Fudge used to drink here.” Fleur said, tossing her starlight hair over one shoulder as she said it. 

“Really? What good authority?” Hermione teased. 

Fleur winked at her. Behind them, the bartender fell over. “He used to take ze French Minister for Magic along, and we would read all about eet in ze papers ze next morning.” 

They all laughed; they had been Harry’s allies and his friends, so they had no love or leniency for Fudge. 

* * *

_A few drinks later…_

* * *

“How’s Amelia, Ginny?” 

A beautiful smile dawned on Ginny’s face at the mention of her daughter. “Really sweet.” Then her mouth tightened and she became serious. “Too sweet.”

Puzzled, Parvati asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“She hasn’t done a single thing wrong since the day she was born. Not even once. I think she’s planning something.”

Hermione stared incredulously. “Ginny, she’s not even six months old. How can she possibly be planning something?” 

“She’s a Weasley, Hermione. That girl has mischief in her blood. And Prongs would’ve been her grandfather. Plus there’s Harry, and you’re her god-mother. She’s destined to get into trouble.”

Offended, Hermione asked, “What’s my being her god-mother got to do with it?”

Everyone actually laughed at her. 

“Hermione, we all know what the Trio was like. The three of you got into loads of trouble.” Angelina said. 

“We had to bend the rules a little bit, once or twice, to do the right thing.” Hermione couldn’t believe this. “We didn’t exactly _enjoy_ it.”

Fleur made a disbelieving sound and said, “Ah, Hermione, you forget that I am married to a Weasley. I have ‘eard all about zat business with ze dragon. And I am not talking about ze one you released from Gringotts.” 

_Norberta!_ Hermione gasped. “Fleur, honestly, that had nothing to do with me!”

“The lynchpin-ess of mischief.” Ginny waved grandly to Hermione. “The architect of evil. Baroness of, uh, what’s worse than evil?”

While Hermione tried to convince everyone of the absolute falsehood of this, Fleur seemed to be seeing Hermione in a completely new light. “Ve ‘ad a girl just like her in Beauxbatons. Never had a day off, perfect marks on every test. Ze whole thing was a coverup. She used to make ze fifth-years do her essays. Zey were all terrified of her. Yes, eet is all starting to make sense-”

Hermione _really_ did not want them to go off on this tangent. She hailed the bartender and said, “Drinks on me, everyone!”

The girls cheered, all except Luna, who was looking thoughtful. 

“Babies have almost no intellectual ability by themselves, but they’ve been known to form psychic conglomerations together. It’s possible that-”

“Oh, this’ll be good.” Padma said underneath her breath. 

As if she hadn’t heard, Luna continued, “Amelia might have joined such a union. Has she had much contact with other children her age?”

Hermione had assumed Ginny would go ballistic at this assertion that her child was simultaneously stupid and had joined a sort of psychic gang, but instead she just nodded. 

“You might be onto something there, Luna.” She said. “I’ll talk to Harry about it later.” And then she winked at Hermione.

Hermione burst out laughing. 

* * *

_More drinks later..._

* * *

Ginny was showing Hermione and the Patil sisters photos of Amelia when Angelina asked brusquely, “When are you getting back on the broom, Ginny?” 

Ginny didn’t even look up at Angelina’s question, and flicked to the next page of the album, prompting yet more cooing out of all of them. Amelia was an adorable child. Now that Hermione was looking for it, though, she was forced to admit to herself that there _was_ a glint of mischief in those hazel eyes. 

“Ange, I’m not telling you that.”

“Come on, we’re friends, aren’t we? I want to support you. I’m interested in your career!” Ginny snorted, and Angelina smiled ruefully, waved her hand dismissively and said, “Oh, whatever. We’re going to wipe the field with the Harpies in the finals anyway, whether you’re on a broom or not.”

Everyone went ‘ooh’, Ginny opened her mouth and nearly blurted something out, then thought better of it. Hermione was impressed. The old Ginny would have given away all her secrets then and there, but the redhead had gotten more circumspect with time. 

Ginny noticed Hermione was interested and asked, “I heard you tried your hand at Quidditch, Hermione. How’d that go?”

Hermione only groaned in answer. She’d been holding onto hope that no-one would ask about that. She’d been combing Quidditch manuals and Penseives of historic matches for weeks, looking for something to give her an edge against Slytherin. So far, she had nothing. 

Heartlessly, Luna said, “Didn’t you lose awfully to Lucius Malfoy?”

“We did pretty well.” Hermione said defensively. And they had. Just not well enough.

“Practically no-one wins their first match, Luna. What’d you think of it?” Ginny asked, signalling for another round of drinks. “Exciting, isn’t it?”

Hermione found it hard to be diplomatic. It might have been the drinks, but she opted for honesty and simply said, “I don’t know if it’s for me.”

“You’ll like it better after you’ve won a few.” Angelina said sagely. 

Padma tore her eyes away from the photos of Amelia long enough to ask, “Isn’t it awful, working with him?”

Hermione knew exactly who she was referring to, and so did Ginny, because the redhead went pale and started applying herself to her drink. 

She somehow didn’t feel comfortable explaining just how easy it had been for her to get along with Lucius Malfoy. Nor did she want to tell her friends what he’d told her; that his family had been tortured, that he considered joining Voldemort the biggest regret of his life. It didn’t seem right to make that information public just for the sake of explaining herself to her friends. 

Instead, she chose the more cautious path. “We’re professionals. McGonagall told me he was on the staff. I knew what I was getting into.”

“I don’t want what Minerva was thinking.” Ginny said. Her voice was subdued. “How she can have him on the staff…”

Cho said, “She was Dumbledore’s Deputy, remember? He believed people could change. She probably feels the same way.”

Ginny had nothing to say to this, and Angelina wisely turned the conversation in another direction. Hermione wasn’t really listening. 

Hermione knew that people could change. Whether or not she thought it happened very often was another story. More often, she believed that people adapted the faces they showed the world to match the times they lived in, or to match their own purposes. 

Was that what Lucius was doing? It was possible. 

But she remembered the look on his face as he’d said that serving Voldemort was the worst mistake he’d ever made. That he’d wanted no part in Voldemort’s vision for the world. Even the way he had talked about Felicity’s courage and Hermione’s own gifts struck her as honest. And, yes, the return of her wand, which was really the least he could have done. It had still been the right thing to do... But How was she supposed to know if those acts were born of actual kindness? 

Hermione knew she was clever. She also knew she wasn’t infallible. She had been wrong about people before, many times, but she didn’t think she was wrong about Lucius. She certainly hoped she wasn’t. 

* * *

_Several drinks too many later..._

* * *

The night went on about as well as could be expected. Luna was interrogating Fleur about the inner workings of Gringotts, presenting her with one ludicrous conspiracy after another. The good natured French witch just laughed and laughed, and adroitly dodged every question. 

Padma and Parvarti, with the eager permission of the bar staff, had cleared a little space off to one side of their table. They were demonstrating their signature duelling hexes to Cho, who was taking notes. Or trying to. Padma and Parvarti were holding up well, but Cho was writing half her notes on a piece of parchment, and the other half on the table. She hadn’t noticed yet, and Hermione found it too funny to intervene. 

Right as they were contemplating another round of shots, a raven flew into the room. It circled their table for a minute or so looking for a place to land, but the bird seemed to regard the various drink spills and snack debris with real disdain. In the end, the bird settled for the back of Hermione’s chair.

It looked down on them, in more ways than one. The bird was glossy and neat. Its dark eyes shone with intelligence as it looked from one witch to the next. The clever animal clicked its beak at them, then looked pointedly down at the note attached to its leg. 

Parvarti asked incredulously, “Is that bird judging us?”

Angelina snorted. “Yeah, actually, I think it is. Go on, Hermione, I think it’s for you.”

_‘Professor Granger,_

_I hope you will forgive the impertinence of this letter. It is the worst manners to send a raven to ascertain a witch’s whereabouts when it might be conjectured that she seeks solitude-’_

Hermione squinted very, very hard at the parchment. Either she’d had a bit more to drink than she’d thought, or the writing was almost impossible to read. She read the first line again. Tiberius. It had to be. No-one else could write so much to say so little. She skipped down the first few lines, then the next, until he finally got around to explaining why this bird was sitting on her chair, whistling desultory tones at her under its breath. 

_‘...attendance at the Head’s Club is, of course, an entirely personal choice, we are a sad, sorry bunch without you. I cannot think of a single interesting thing to say, Wilhelmina speaks only to say how much she misses you, and Lucius is the worst of us all. He is, and I truly hate to say it, but he is actually trying to mark student’s homework. I confiscate one pile from him, and out of nowhere he brings out another and starts working away without so much as a ‘by your leave’._

_Needless to say, this is a truly abominable state of affairs and at the risk of infringing on your personal time, I must beg that you come to the Head Club with all haste and set us to rights._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Tiberius Flint.’_

  
  


Hermione sat and digested the letter until Angelina lost patience and asked, “Go on. What’s it about?”

“They’re having a rubbish time. They want me to come back.” Or, at least, Tiberius and Grubbly-Plank did. 

It was an absolutely amazing idea. Hermione Granger; a person who was missed at social gatherings. Even if Tiberius was exaggerating, as he so often did, it was still incredible. Hermione thought it might just have been the most wonderful letter she had ever received. 

Parvati and Padma were having none of it though. “Too bad. We never get to see you anymore. You’ll be seeing them every day for… how long?”

Hermione really hadn’t thought of it like that. “Well… forever, I suppose.”

By the time she remembered to actually reply to Flint’s letter, she was not quite confident in her ability to write something back that would meet his standards of letter writing. So instead, she sent him a Howler. 

The Howler was the modern kind. It required her only to tap the parchment with her wand, and then speak her message aloud. It would do all the rest of the work for her. 

The message she sent back to Hogwarts went something like this,

_“Everyone shhhhhhhhh! STOP TALKING, IT’S STARTING- Okay, hi Tiberius, god that name’s hard to say- can’t make it to the Head Club tonight-”_ at this point, there was a great deal of feminine laughter, some of it from Hermione herself- _“Um, you all have fun though. See you on Monday. Okay- I think it’s finished- how do I turn it off-?”_

  
  


* * *

On Saturday morning, Hermione woke up with a blinding headache. It would be more accurate to say that she woke up, assessed the situation, and decided that consciousness under these conditions was simply not worth it. So she rolled over and went back to sleep, almost crushing Crookshanks in the process. 

Half an hour later, she woke up properly. She still was not happy about it. The morning sun was lancing into her eyes with merciless precision and her stomach… god, her stomach. 

The Infirmary. Madame Pomfrey would be able to help. 

Hand flung up in front of her eyes, Hermione opened her bedroom door and lurched out into the landing. Her foot bumped into something and she had to clutch the wall to keep from tumbling down the long flight of stairs. 

Heart hammering, she looked down. The thing that had almost killed her was a valise.

It looked old but in excellent condition. It was small; about the length of her forearm. Kneeling down was a risky business in the state she was in, but she did it anyway. Curiosity was a powerful thing. She opened the lid and saw- 

Meticulously organised in evenly spaced rows were vials, bottles and bundles of a dozen shapes and colours. All were labelled with names and instructions for their use. 

One read, _‘A cure for nausea, best taken with tea.’_ Another, _‘To reduce sensitivity to light. Avoid shaking the vial.’_ There was also a little bottle of Eye-Opener, which Hermione imagined Lucius must have found very funny. 

The rest of the valise was filled with tightly rolled blankets and other assorted gifts. Not all of them made a lot of sense. Hermione wasn’t sure how a wheat-bag was meant to help with a hangover, for example. The eyemask, embroidered with a pair of eyes with comically thick eyelashes, was probably something she wouldn’t be seen dead wearing. 

Regardless, she was deeply touched. Hermione stood up and went back to her room, taking the valise with her. She felt a lot better already. 

Rifling through the potions, Hermione summoned a House Elf and asked him to bring some breakfast to her rooms. She definitely didn’t want the whole school to see her like this. In no time at all, a platter of very bland, very greasy food was sitting at her desk, along with a cup of tea. 

The strange thing was, the writing wasn’t all the same. Comparing the letter Lucius had sent her the morning after the Quidditch match and the handwriting on the potion bottles made it very clear that most of the potions were from him. But not all. There was a tiny bottle of raspberry flavoured Temple-Soother marked with an extravagant, looping cursive. Tiberius? It had to be; she recognised it from the night before. Wrapped in swathes of tissue paper was a bag of sweets. She tentatively tried one. It was fruity, but didn’t change flavour, fizzle, or expand in her mouth. The note that came with them hadn’t misled her; they were muggle sweets. The handwriting was simple, easy to read. It could only be Grubbly-Plank’s. 

The whole Head’s Club had sent her a care package. Hermione was surprised to feel tears prickle at the corner of her eyes. It was only a hangover, and she probably would have been fine after a few glasses of water, but still. They hadn’t had to do that for her. She hadn’t asked, and would never have even thought of it. 

It was the fact that she’d been considered, been thought of, when she hadn’t been there. When her absence might have made them feel a bit slighted. 

It was incredibly kind. 

Several potions later, Hermione’s headache abated just enough for her to do a bit of reading. She opened the latest edition of Quidditch Throughout the Ages and started flicking through. Of course she could get Beatrice permission to train the team to withstand longer matches, and improve the overall quality of their players so they didn’t have to rely on their Seeker so much, but Hermione knew that wouldn’t be enough. 

Lucius Malfoy wouldn’t just have this one strategy up his sleeve. She found it hard to believe that, so early in the year, he would have revealed the only idea he had. She would have to come up with something better to beat him. She would have to devote more time to the Quidditch team and learn more about the sport… 

Her eyes fell on the Holyhead Harpies feature, and it was as if a bolt of lightning struck her. 

_Or, I could just find someone else more qualified._

  
  


* * *

“Ginny, I’ve had a wonderful idea.”

Ginny groaned. Or, rather, her head groaned from where it smouldered in the fireplace. “Oh, Merlin.”

“There’s no need to be stroppy, Ginny.”

“Yes there is. I’ve got a screaming baby, a thumping headache, and Hermione Granger just Floo’d me at 8 o’clock in the morning to tell me that she has a wonderful idea.”

“Oh, so you _don’t_ want to take over as Gryffindor coach, then?”

Ginny gaped at her and Hermione laughed. 

“Think about it. You hate those Board meetings, Ginny, but you want to do something for Hogwarts. You love Quidditch, but you don’t feel quite ready for matches yet. This would be _perfect_ for you. You already coach your own team. Hogwarts students would be easy in comparison.”

Ginny thought it over. Slowly, she said, “I can’t. McGonagall -”

“Would hire you in a heartbeat. Not that you really need the money, Ginny, but you know she’d pay you anything you asked for. I lost to Slytherin last week. McGonagall is a Gryffindor. She doesn’t want to see that happen again.”

Ginny still wasn’t convinced, and Hermione said slyly, “You want to stick it to Malfoy, Ginny. Admit it. You joined the Board hoping he’d be there so you could yell at him and oppose everything he did. Wouldn’t it be better to crush him every match instead? You’d do so much better than me, Ginny. I haven’t got much head for Quidditch. Think about it. Hundreds and hundreds of people, watching you beat him.”

Ginny smiled a slow, vicious smile, and Hermione could see it clear as day. The Inter-House Cup sitting on her desk, Gryffindor secured in first place forever, and Board meetings where she wouldn’t have to worry about being dragged out on benders afterwards.

“You know, Hermione,” Ginny murmured as her own fantasies gave her eyes a far-away quality, “You really are a genius.”

* * *

As she’d predicted, Hermione’s suggestion to Minerva that Ginny would jump at the opportunity to teach Quidditch to the Gryffindors was very well received. It was not, technically speaking, against any school rules. 

The Headmistress did have some objections, however. “The other Head of Houses won’t like it if Gryffindor is allowed a professional Coach. Ginny is a league-level player. They’ll say it’s unfair, and I’m inclined to agree.”

“They will if they’re given that same opportunity, Headmistress. Some of the teachers like coaching Quidditch. Most don’t. They’ll jump at the opportunity to delegate the job to someone else. We get more time to focus on our-” Hermione stopped herself. She had almost said _‘real work’_ , “-on marking tests and teaching the students. And the students can learn from professionals. It benefits everyone.”

Minerva wavered. “And what about their pay?”

“The Quidditch budget has room. We won’t have to buy any more brooms for the next few years. We won’t have to pay them very much, Headmistress. They’ll see it as an honour.”

And they would. This was Hogwarts. Her own pay as Charms professor was nothing compared to what she had earned as a full-time author and inventor. But when she’d seen that ad in the paper, she’d jumped at the opportunity and hadn’t looked back. Hermione was certain the other Houses would have plenty of applicants. If anything, the real difficulty would be how to sort through them.

  
  


* * *

The news that Ginny Weasley, Captain of the Holyhead Harpies, would be coaching the Gryffindor Quidditch team from now on was broken to the Great Hall during dinner later that week.

Ginny had come for the announcement. She wore her green and yellow Quidditch robes. She stood beside the staff table, grinning impishly. Lucius saw the whole thing unfold with the expression of a man watching kindling being spread beneath his feet. 

As the Great Hall erupted into cheers (the Gryffindor table) conversation and heated debate (the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff table) and went completely silent (the Slytherin table), Lucius Malfoy leaned forward and quietly addressed Hermione. 

“Well, Professor Granger. Remind me to never play wizard chess against _you._ ”

“I’d probably lose.” Hermione said offhandedly. There was no need to rub it in. “I’ve never been very good at it. Ron used to beat me all the time.”

Hearing herself bring up Ron so casually was so strange. Six months ago, she could never have done it. Time didn’t heal all wounds, exactly, but it made some a little easier to bear. 

She was too lost in her reveries to hear Lucius say in reply, “What is it the muggles say? Something like, _practice makes perfect._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, sorry that our sweet Lucius wasn't front and center of this chapter! I'm a big believer in fics where Hermione has space to breathe, so she won't always be at Hogwarts, and he won't always be playing a massive part in each chapter. Of course, things will change a bit once... you know ;) 
> 
> Also, I promise Hermione won't be getting hammered every chapter. It seems to be a recurring theme in these early chapters, I've noticed... 
> 
> Next chapter is the HALLOWEEN CHAPTER, GUYS. Sorry it's a wee bit late, but I didn't want to rush it. Hope you enjoy, and as always, I'll see you next week!


	6. The Trial of Samhain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yessss, the Halloween chapter is finally here! Better late than never. I hope you all had a lovely Halloween! 
> 
> My editor really worked her ass off in this one, ngl. It took a lot of last minute editing to wrangle a few of those tricky paragraphs. Thank you so much, JessariOfErebor. 
> 
> Enjoy, and as always, thanks for coming along! Read on, my lovelies!

It was the twenty-eighth of October. The hour was late and the Slytherin common room was quiet. 

A single candle standing upon a chess set was the only thing keeping the dark at bay, though even that very nearly did more harm than good. The flickering of its flames made the basilisk skeleton hanging from the ceiling seem to writhe. 

By the unlit fireplace, a dozen or so handsome green leather chairs were huddled together in a tight circle. Every now and again, a distorted breeze would come howling out of the fireplace from aboveground. The effect was harrowing to all who were not used to it. To those who had had more time to grow accustomed to it, the wind sounded almost like music. Eerie, yes, but beautiful. Comforting. 

The students gathered together were calm and still. They sat with straight backs and lofty expressions. At their feet was a cauldron of black iron. 

One of the students, a fifth year girl named Vanessa Flint, addressed the group. Her tone was low and her words had an air of ritual to them. 

“Every year, Slytherin House holds its own tribute to Samhain. A Trial to test the cunning and determination of the House of Salazar and Merlin. We come together and tell stories and prove our resourcefulness by recreating the stories we tell. Those who remain calm and don’t lose control of themselves win. Those who break, who show weakness, are expelled from the Trial.”

A boy a little older than her, Daniel Rosier, took up the recitation. 

“The rules are as follows; One hundred galleons to the one who tells the scariest story tonight. Three hundred galleons to the one who makes it the longest through the Trial without showing signs of fear no matter what they see or hear. You are encouraged to be… creative, to get other participants to show fear. No apparitions of people’s family members, nothing about… You-Know-Who. And if I hear that people are ganging up on the first-years, or picking on people who’ve bowed out or lost, they’ll have me to deal with. Teamwork is encouraged, but no groups of more than five against one single student. Any rubbish like that and you’re banned from ever taking part in the Trial again.”

Everyone agreed. Slytherins were competitive by nature, but some games were more fun when the odds were relatively even. 

The Rosier boy finished, “And remember, the Trial doesn’t stop outside this room. It stops at sunrise on the first of November. 

A younger one piped up, “What about during class?”

“Nothing inside the classrooms or when there’s a teacher right there. And lastly… Everyone chips into the pot to make up the three hundred galleons or you don’t take part. You can withdraw at any time.”

The students ignored the invitation and started throwing money into the cauldron. One by one, they all paid their dues. The room felt charged with excitement. The younger ones snuck surreptitious glances at each other, trying to ascertain who would be weakest. Who would make the best targets. The elder ones deliberately avoided succumbing to the urge, cooly confident in their mettle. 

“Oh, one more thing.” Vanessa Flint said. “If a participant is near someone from another House, best to leave them alone. We don’t want the others to catch on and go snitching.”

Mary Abbott made a disbelieving noise. “Fat chance of that happening, no-one wants to come anywhere near us-”

_ THUMP!!! _

As one, all the children jumped out of their skins. 

Beyond the glass, a merwoman spread her webbed hands at them. She grinned her awful grin and swam away. The Slytherins hurled derision and nervous laughter at her in equal measure. 

Cheeks flushed with excitement, Vanessa Flint said, “Looks like this is going to be an interesting Trial. Who’s up first? Someone has to tell the story of the Bloody Baron.”

A fourth year, Eric Thorpe, groaned. “I  _ hate  _ that one.”

Rosier said with a note of finality, “It’s tradition. The House Ghost’s story always opens up the Trial.”

Lucy Greenwood stood up. This was to be the second year’s first Trial, but her hands were loose at her sides. A calculated display of control that showed her grit. The others reassessed their opinion of her very quickly. 

“I’ll do it.” She said. 

“By all means, Lucy. Let’s see what you can do. But remember, no embellishments for the Baron’s story. You have to tell it as it is.”

* * *

Later, Hermione would be embarrassed to remember that she hadn’t really noticed anything was wrong. 

Certainly the Slytherin table seemed a little subdued. But they were  _ always  _ quiet. And if a few of them seemed tired or jumpy, that was no huge surprise either. Students could be a little on edge sometimes. It didn’t have to mean anything. 

What  _ should  _ have tipped her off was that the Slytherins didn’t respond to any of the provocations that members of other Houses subjected them to. Andrew Harding, a Gryffindor third year who should have known better, charmed a jug of pumpkin juice to spill itself down a Slytherin second years back. That little act of cruelty cost Gryffindor thirty points and got him the scolding of his life from Hermione. But the Slytherin hadn’t said a word. Not as it happened, and not afterwards. She just sat there with her hands folded on her lap, eyes staring dead ahead. She hadn’t even flinched. 

Others things like that happened as the day went on, and they all ended the same way. The usually hot-headed, protective Slytherins didn’t fight, squabble, or involve themselves in any disputes. During her class, their attention was laconic at best. 

It was as if they were saving their energy for something else. But Hermione didn’t see it, and so she didn’t understand until it was too late. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Hermione was nearly at the end of her patrol of the corridors when she heard a blood-curdling scream rising up from the dungeons. 

She didn’t even think. She drew her wand and sprinted down the stairs to the lower levels of the castle as fast as her legs could carry her. 

The dungeons were labyrinthine, and very soon she became totally disorientated. After a few more turns she came to a halt. Where had the scream come from? 

Whoever it was screamed again, closer, and Hermione ran on down another flight of steps, took a turn, and-

A young boy cowered. His hands were thrown up in front of his face as if to protect himself. Terrified, obviously, but he didn’t appear to be injured. Thank Merlin. 

Hermione tried to project strength. “Mr…. Nott, isn’t it? What’s the matter? Are you alright?”

The boy tried to speak but nothing came out. She frowned.

There was a slithering, creeping sound at the edge of her hearing, and the Nott boy moaned in fear. Hermione turned her head.

A monster came round the corner. 

The first thing that struck her was its size. Hunched over as it was, it still stood six feet tall. Its eyes were grey and weeping. The fanged maw hung open, drooping down to its chest. The skin was slimy, oozing, and left a trail from where its shoulder dragged along the wall. 

Even from so far away, she could hear it breathing. 

“Stay behind me.” She said, though it didn’t sound quite right coming from her numbed lips. 

Her wandhand rose up, the tip spat and crackled. 

“ _ Depulso _ .”

The thing flew backwards through the air and hit the stone wall with a  _ crack _ . It stirred; all limbs moving in opposite directions. The sight was horrifying, sickening. 

“ _ Immobulus _ .” 

It froze stock still. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. They were safe. For now. 

What should she do? She didn’t know the Slytherin dungeons as well as she should. She only really had much experience with the Potions classroom. Hermione agonised over the decision for a split second. 

If she left Nott to go for help alone, and he was attacked… but if she left the monster and it broke free and went for the other students… Hermione tried to calm down. She needed help. There could be more of those things. The whole school could be in danger. 

Not taking her eyes off the monster, she asked, “Which is closer, Professor Malfoy’s office or the Common Room?”

The boy said nothing, and she risked a glance at him. Nott was looking at the monster, then at her, in absolute horror. 

Hermione repeated the question firmly. Nott seemed to snap out of it a little bit. “Professor Malfoy, but Professor-”

“Go get him as quickly as you can.” 

The boy wavered for a moment, before leaving at a dead run. 

She turned her attention back to the creature and for good measure, cast  _ Incarcerous _ with a few circular movements of her wand _.  _ Black chains whipped around the creature, binding it tightly. 

Wanting to get a good look at it, she lifted it up from off the ground in a slow, steady motion. Heart pounding, she took a step toward the monster. Then another. The  _ immobulus  _ still had it frozen solid, which surprised her. She would have expected some sort of movement by now in a creature clearly magical in origin. Many magical creatures had some sort of resistance to magic; especially ones as powerful and dangerous as… whatever this thing was. 

When she was about five feet away, it dawned on her that the creature might be intelligent enough to play dead. 

Her eyes narrowed and she held the word  _ defodio  _ in her mind. Her wand was at the ready in case it made any sudden moves.

Carefully, slowly, she drew closer, trying to work out what it was. She had honestly never seen anything like it. A demon? Surely not. No-one had studied demonology in any meaningful capacity in centuries. It simply wasn’t possible that anyone could have summoned it. The answer must be much simpler. Could it be a foreign beast of some kind? It had to be. Grubbly-Plank would know. 

She felt the  _ immobulus  _ break at last. The monster opened its mouth and a cacophony of voices came out, all screaming at her. Hermione cried out in horror and disgust and her wand crackled in warning-

A hand seized her wrist in a vicelike grip, she whipped her head around to see- 

Lucius Malfoy stood, covered in a sheen of sweat. His pupils were blown with fear and he was breathing heavily. He wore only a white shirt and trousers, obviously hastily put on. 

Her concentration broke and the creature hit the floor with a noise like a sack of potatoes being kicked down a flight of stairs. 

Outraged and afraid, she tried to tug herself free of his grip but Lucius would not let go. 

Desperately, he urged her, “Hermione, look! It is only the students!”

Not understanding, she looked back and saw-

The monster was gone. A pile of students was in its place. Fifth years and six years, by the looks of them. 

Hermione could only stare. Lucius released her wandhand, which fell limp to her side. 

She had attacked children. She knew she hadn’t imagined what she had seen. She wasn’t going mad. Could it have been a transfiguration of some kind? An illusion? 

It didn’t matter. She had hurt them, could have killed them-

Tears were forming in her eyes as she watched the groaning children untangle themselves and, wincing, stand upright. 

In a guilt-thick voice, she asked no-one in particular, “What did I do?” 

Lucius tried to soothe her. “It is alright, it is not your fault. I can explain. But first, you four, you’re all in one piece? Good. Go to Madame Pomfrey. Nott, go with them.” 

Watching them leave, Hermione tried desperately to reassure herself that they were okay. She hadn’t known what she was doing. She had been trying to protect Nott. 

“Professor Granger, I'll escort you back to your rooms. Please, it is the least I can do.” 

As they strode through the dungeons, Hermione listened to his explanation. Barely. She walked in a haze. 

More out of necessity than anything, she went to bed. She tossed and turned, mind caught in a never-ending cycle of what had happened and what could have been. She kept hearing the sound the students had made as she had flung them against the wall. The pain on their faces as they had pulled themselves to their feet. And worst of all… the lethal spell she had been so close to using.

Much, much later, she would fall asleep feeling no better than she had before.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Minerva was not angry, nor was she disappointed. She was  _ livid _ . 

She had called a meeting the following morning with all the senior staff to discuss what had occurred in the dungeons. She also summoned the students from the Infirmary the second Madame Pomfrey had released them. 

And so the House Heads and the four Slytherins who had been behind the monstrosity in the corridor assembled in the Headmistress’ office. The Heads were seated to the left and right of McGonagall, and the children stood in poses of deep contrition on the other side of the desk. Their bright-red faces would have been enough to make Hermione pity them in pretty much any other situation. 

Hermione’s hand went up, an old habit she couldn’t quite break. “Can I just say- before we start- I’m really sorry for using magic on you. I should have known it was an illusion. I hope none of you are badly hurt.”

The Slytherins mumbled something that sounded a bit like, ‘We’re okay, Professor’. It was hard to say. None of them could look her in the eye. 

Vanessa Flint, who had spent the last several minutes trying to escape her uncle’s disapproving stares, finally cracked and said with a sheepish grin: “To be fair, professor, it  _ was _ an excellent illusion.”

Lucius roughly cleared his throat, trying his best to not look alarmed- or proud. The student ducked her head down again, and wisely fell silent. 

_ Oh, dear. _ Clever enough to pull off a masterclass illusion, but totally lacking in judgement. Minerva pulled in a sharp breath, and Hermione saw that if she didn’t step in, things would escalate.

Hoping to distract the incensed Minerva from the foolish young Flint, Hermione said, “Anyway, Headmistress, I should have known that something like that could never cross the school boundary. If you want to remove me as Head of House, or get rid of me altogether, I’d understand.”

Tiberius exclaimed, “Get rid of you-? Absurd!”

The Ravenclaw seemed all too ready to launch into one of his reeling speeches, but Minerva cut him off with a warning look and said, “Tiberius is right. You were acting in the defence of a student, Professor Granger. We’ll say no more about it.”

Thank god. She had barely slept a wink last night, and it wasn’t just because of the adrenaline, or the sheer shame of it. More than that, she had been truly terrified that she would lose her position at Hogwarts.

Finally able to breathe, Hermione settled back in her chair and watched the rest of it unfold. The students explained the Trial to them as best as they could. The teachers listened with varying degrees of shock, horror, and fury. 

When the students had finished, Minerva continued her interrogation with, “And when you saw Mr Nott was terrified out of his wits, why on earth did you not leave him be? If the rules of this game of yours is only to frighten each other the once, why did you not leave him in peace?”

The Flint girl answered, “It wasn’t Nott we were after. It was Professor Granger, not that we knew who she was. No-one goes into the Slytherin dungeons at night except Slytherins. We thought she was undergoing the Trial, we were just trying to scare her to knock her out of the running.” 

One of the others stammered, “Professor Granger is, um, not much taller than a student.” Hermione rankled at this and the student hastily went on, “It was dark, the illusion made it hard to see-.”

“So you did it because you thought she was another student.” Grubbly-Plank growled. 

Minerva sighed deeply, and Hermione felt a powerful surge of respect for the Headmistress. If it had been her sitting in that chair, she would not have been handling this so well. “And when you  _ did  _ realise that a Professor was there, did it not occur to you to stop what you were doing and simply  _ release the enchantment _ ?”

The sixth year, Daniel, straightened his shoulders and spoke up. “The spells were complex. I knew that if we broke it too quickly we could all come back wrong. They wanted to revert but I held them back. I thought it would be safest to wait until we could do it without panicking, but then Professor Granger hit us with an  _ immobulus  _ and we couldn’t move. It’s my fault. I take full responsibility.” 

Wryly, Minerva said, “All martyrdom aside, Mr Rosier, you can hardly take responsibility for something that I know full well your classmates joined you in of their own free will. What I wanted to hear was an explanation.” 

Hermione knew what the students must be feeling. How many times had she stood where they were standing after getting caught in one of Harry’s schemes? Generally, though, they had actually been for some sort of good reason. 

“The four of you will wait outside unless we call you in. I’ll be taking your wands.”

The students were not happy about it, but Lucius gave them a sharp look and they relinquished their wands and left the room. 

The second the door closed, Grubbly-Plank burst out, “Minerva, this must be stopped.”

Lucius interjected, “Headmistress, please. The involvement of anyone outside Slytherin House is  _ not  _ done. The students involved will be punished, you have my word. Our House has very few traditions that haven’t been prohibited. I implore you, don’t take this from us.” 

Grubbly-Plank turned in her chair and leveled a fierce scowl at Lucius. “Has it ever occurred to you, Lucius, that there’s a reason so many of your House ‘traditions’ end up getting banned?”

Lucius seemed hurt but ready to defend himself, but Minerva raised a hand and the two Heads of House fell silent, though Grubbly-Plank radiated resentment. 

Minerva was silent, her eyes unfocused behind her steepled fingers. 

She looked to the Head of Ravenclaw House, who had been very quiet during this whole thing, “Professor Flint?” 

Hermione had been watching for it, so she didn’t miss the surreptitious, pleading look that Lucius sent his friend. He was hoping for his support. Not that Hermione really thought he needed to ask, since one of the ringleaders was Flint’s own niece. Not many people could be relied upon to fairly cast judgement on one of their own family, and she wasn’t sure if Tiberius was one of them. 

Sure enough, Flint said thoughtfully, “I am loathe to stifle creativity in students. Certainly this whole thing has turned out very badly, but if the tradition has been going along for hundreds of years without incident, it seems somewhat drastic to call it off now.”

Grubbly-Plank scoffed aloud. 

“And what about you, Professor Granger?” Minerva asked. 

Hermione didn’t hesitate. “It seems like a stupid and cruel thing for students to do to their classmates. Why wouldn’t we put a stop to it?”

Lucius answered immediately, grey eyes fixed on her, “It tests courage and eloquence. Teamwork, skill and cunning, for that matter. All traits which we should honour and encourage in our students.”

He was pleading for her approval, she realised. Why? Did he really think she could give it to him? 

Hermione said, “There are other ways for students to prove those things. Ways that don’t risk young children being traumatised.” 

Still speaking directly to her, Lucius asked, “Do students not go to the Shrieking Shack as a test of courage? This is not so very different.” He turned to Minerva and said, “What happened was a mistake and I am very sorry for it. I am Head of Slytherin House. Let me discipline the students. There is no need for this to go any further.”

Minerva fell into deep thought. Hermione wished she knew what she was thinking, but at times, Minerva could be as impenetrable as her predecessor.

“Your tradition will be allowed to continue, but on certain conditions. First and second years will  _ not  _ be involved. We will keep a record of those participating. And under no circumstances will high-level illusions be permitted. Any infringements of these rules will result in the immediate dissolution of the Trial. Have I made myself clear?”

Lucius said, “Thank you, Headmistress. If that will be all, may I escort the children to their Dorms?”

“Certainly you may, and you may tell them that the Trial is cancelled for today. I trust that you shall make the new rules clear?”

Lucius gave her a half bow and left. 

To her mind, McGonagall had been quite lenient. Still, it wasn’t Hermione’s decision to make. They would have to see how the Trial would play out, with more rules and supervision, and see if it was worth continuing. 

That could have been the end of it. But when Hermione thought about the illusion, the whole thing just didn’t sit quite right with her.

Hermione excused herself and went after him. Lucius slowed and turned at the sound of her footsteps, and the students all went quiet. 

“That illusion was some masterclass Charmwork.” She told the students. It was the truth. Yes it had taken all four of them, but they’d pulled it off well enough that the illusion had stayed intact even when hit with magic. It had been real enough to fool her right up until the end. 

The students looked at one another, obviously confused by this praise. Fidgeting, they mumbled a chorus of ‘Thank you, Professor Granger’. 

“And yet none of you have ever gotten perfect marks on any of your essays in my class. I’ll expect better of you from now on.”

The children didn’t really know what to say to this. Lucius gave her an unsure, but grateful, smile. He made as if to leave and Hermione stopped him. 

“Actually, Professor Malfoy, I was hoping to have a word with you. I’m sure the children can be trusted to pass on the message about the Trial being cancelled for today, can’t they?”

Lucius hesitated, but the students all nodded. They seemed sincere enough. If nothing else, she doubted that they would risk another telling-off from McGonagall. Lucius gave them a nod, and they set off for the dungeons. 

Hermione didn’t want to stand there and talk with him in the middle of the corridor. She had something to ask him that she wanted to remain private. 

“Come on.” Hermione said. “Let’s go somewhere we won’t be overheard.”

The Malfoy seemed very amused by this. He smiled again, and this time it seemed much stronger. “In this castle? Wherever will we go?”

After a brief discussion, they ended up going up to the battlements. They saw almost no-one on the way, and the second they stepped out into the open air it became clear why. It was very windy and overcast, and even the ghosts were avoiding it. 

Hermione wasted no time. Crossing her arms, she asked, “Mr Rosier’s really talented. But I haven’t gotten a letter from him saying he wants to join my NEWT class. Is it because I’m a muggleborn?”

Lucius was perturbed at this direct question. He pursed his lips together before answering, “His parents are traditionalists. It is possible.” 

Hermione hated that. She hated that students who clearly could excel were being pressured away from the things they were good at by their families. “Maybe you should talk to him. You’re his Head of House. He respects you. He’ll listen to your advice.”

Lucius’ eyes fixed on her. “Do you think so?” There was nothing insecure or self-effacing about him. He said it as a challenge. 

She had a sudden feeling that she should be treading more carefully. They had been friendly with one another recently, but she knew that Minerva’s restrictions had wounded his pride very badly. He had been very respectful of her, had trusted her judgement more than once, but this wasn’t the best time for her to tell him what to do. Hermione wasn’t good at being diplomatic, though. She had to trust that he would understand that she was only trying to help. 

“I do, actually. Not many Head of Houses could convince their students to give up their wands like that.”

“And not many Head of Houses would care enough about a student from another House to go out of their way to nurture their abilities, even after what Mr Rosier has done.”

Hermione and Lucius looked at one another. She hoped he thought her face was going red because of the wind. 

She blurted out, “I think it’s a stupid tradition and I don’t think it will keep going much longer.”

Lucius gave a startled laugh, letting the moment break. “Well, at least you are forthright. Will you come and stand next to me?”

She gave him a searching look. He simply turned his back to her and faced the school grounds. A gloved hand brushed the wall beside him absently, as if to say;  _ here.  _

She came to stand beside him. She thought she saw him smile, just a little. 

The castle sprawled out beneath them in all its glory.  _ I should come up here more often _ , Hermione thought. It really was a beautiful school. 

Students and the occasional professor could be seen going from building to building here and there, an owl or two fluttering from window to window, but overall it was a rather quiet morning. 

Lucius drew her attention and pointed to a little window high up in the Gryffindor tower. “Do you see that, there?” Hermione had never really knowingly stood this close to him before. It was a strange feeling. Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded. “When I was a boy, the Gryffindors used to throw themselves from that window every term.”

Horrified, she exclaimed, “They didn’t!”

“I assure you, they did. Their friends would be waiting down at the bottom for them, of course. No-one could cast  _ Arresto Momentum  _ like a Gryffindor, back in my day.” His hand fell, and his eyes, soft with memory where they were usually distant and cold, turned to the Ravenclaw tower. “Every year, the Ravenclaws used to hold a quiz that lasted a full week. None of them slept. As I understand, the loser had to dress up as a pixie on the last day of term and whenever they were asked a question, they had to respond with, ‘I don’t know, because I’m a blithering idiot.’”

Despite herself, her lip twitched and she had to look down at her feet for a moment. 

When she looked up again, he was looking fondly down at the grounds. Far beneath them, she could see a knot of students grouped together, heads bent down over their books. There was a particularly sharp gust of wind and someone lost a piece of parchment. 

Acting quickly, Hermione snapped her wand out of her pocket to catch the escaped bit of homework and sent it spiralling back down to them. It was tricky magic at such a distance and took a lot of concentration, so she did not see the admiration on Lucius’ face. 

Just barely, she thought she could hear the students whooping at their good luck.

Putting her wand away, she asked, “What about the Hufflepuffs?”

“Eating contests, mostly, though the upper years had drinking contests too. The Infirmary was always full of Hufflepuffs with- ah, shall we say gastric upsets-?”

She made a sympathetic face, trying not to laugh. “Poor Hufflepuffs.”

He disagreed. “No-one took part who did not want to. They were good times. All these traditions are gone, now. All except Slytherin’s Trial.”

His tone was whimsical but she said resolutely, “Perhaps it’s for the best.” 

“And yet, they were all part of what made Hogwarts unique from other wizarding schools.” 

They stood like that for a little while, leaning against the stonework and looking down over the school together. 

Eventually she asked him, “Did you take part in the Trial?” 

Surprised she even had to ask, he smirked and said. “Of course.”

“Were you good at it?”

He studied her for a moment. Perhaps trying to understand her motivations. “I won the one hundred galleons almost every year I was a student. The three hundred, never.”

A very powerful image came to her. A young Lucius telling stories in the dead of night to a gaggle of horrified, impressed children. She imagined him waving his hands about, eyes lit up with excitement. She wondered if Bellatrix and Narcissa had been there. She supposed they must have been. 

She shivered. 

“You are cold.” He said immediately, his brows drawn together in concern. “We must get you out of this wind.”

“I’m fine, really.” She said, not wanting to explain that it was the memory of his sister-in-law that had made her shudder. 

He did not let it drop. “Will you at least allow me to Charm your robes?”

She could have said no. She wasn’t cold in the first place, and even if she had been, she was certainly more than capable of performing such simple magic as that. 

But instead, she found herself saying, “Okay.” 

It only took a second. It was an easy spell and he only had to say it beneath his breath. She felt the toasty warmth spread and, without meaning to, closed her eyes for a moment in bliss. 

“It’s a pity the Gryffindor tradition was gone before your time.” He said abruptly. “I think you would have enjoyed it.”

She laughed incredulously. It was amazing to hear herself do it, and even more incredible to imagine herself deliberately throwing herself from a great height just to prove her own courage. 

“Me? God no.” She tried hard not to let it affect her, but she had never liked heights. It was part of why she had never been good at flying.

She had expected that Lucius would protest, as social norms usually demanded in this sort of situation. Instead he gave an elegant shrug and said, “Perhaps not. You would have stayed at the bottom, I think, catching everyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... what'd you think? :D 
> 
> This chapter, believe it or not, is YET another double chapter! Part two should be released within the next 5-7 days. I'll try to do it sooner if possible. I do prefer to update a bit closer together, when it comes to two part chapters.


	7. The Halloween Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! 
> 
> So... straight off the bat, I want to give massive props to my editor, JessariOfErebor. She actually came up with this chapter, so if you enjoy it, please give her a shoutout in the comments! I was actually very much a party pooper at first and didn't really like the idea, but once I came around to it.... this is now one of my fave chapters of this whole damn fanfic, so I really hope you guys have fun! 
> 
> Before we get stuck into it, a song came out this week that really makes me think of Lumione. At least, it makes me think of them in this fic. So if you want to, maybe give it a listen? It's called +5 STAR, by CL. 
> 
> Enough jibber jabber from me. Read on, thank you, and enjoy!

Hermione had believed, perhaps a little naively, that Minerva’s new rules would bring the Trial the only resolution it needed. This was far from true. The Slytherins  _ did  _ seem less tense, less quiet, than they had been. But they didn’t seem happy either. 

Hermione kept a special eye on them during breakfast. She hadn’t thought they would look so…  _ beaten down.  _ Thanks to Minerva, the Trial had been made safer for everyone. The fact that it had even been allowed to continue at all was something they should probably be grateful for. Why weren’t they relieved? 

About half an hour into the first class of the day, Hermione understood what had happened. Apparently, while the Slytherins had been in the Infirmary, one of the other students had eavesdropped and had spread the story of the Trial throughout the school. The other Houses were taking the news badly. Snide remarks were made about how they must not be so cunning if they’d been caught, how it was very immature of them to try to scare each other, and the like. This wasn’t exactly kind, but it wasn’t too bad. Unfortunately, some of the students went as far as to suggest that the Trial was typical, that Slytherins would always take opportunities to be cruel. Hermione heard things like, ‘At least they’re turning on one another rather than tormenting everyone else, like they usually do.’ 

This did  _ not  _ sit well with Hermione at all, and by the time her first class was over, she’d been forced to give out more detentions and dock more points than she had throughout the whole term so far. 

Thankfully, before lunch began, Minerva stood to address the school.

“I understand that word has spread of a certain event that took place in Slytherin House yesterday. Rest assured that no-one was hurt, and that all the appropriate measures have been taken.” The Headmistress’s cool gaze came to rest on the Slytherin table. “I want to make it perfectly clear that Hogwarts has no intention of abandoning all of its traditions. The world changes, and we change with it, but our history is an important part of our identity. It is in this spirit that tomorrow night Hogwarts will be celebrating a tradition that hasn’t been practiced in many years; the Halloween Ball.”

Chatter spread all throughout the Hall at this. Even the Slytherins seemed to rouse themselves out of their collective sulk to whisper to one another. More than anything, they all seemed… confused. Hermione felt much the same. She’d read about the Halloween Ball in  _ Hogwarts; A History _ , but if her memory served her, it had only been a few paragraphs long.

Seeing that no-one seemed to really know what she was talking about, Minerva shook her head and said quietly, “I think perhaps a brief history lesson might be in order. Professor Malfoy?”

Hermione peered down the table at Lucius, who looked surprised to be called upon. 

Minerva’s eyes were sharp, but her tone was calm. “If you would be so kind? I believe history is a particular passion of yours.”

Hermione felt her respect for Minerva rise even higher. The old witch was  _ clever.  _ Compromise. That was a way to lead, too. The faculty was a team, after all. 

Lucius nodded his acquiescence and rose. Every eye on the Hall was on him, and not all of them were pleased. The Gryffindors begrudgingly accepted him as a teacher, particularly since he went out of his way to be good at his job and didn’t play favourites too badly. That didn’t mean they were happy to see him being singled out. 

Lucius’ grey eyes passed over the students, seemingly lost in thought as he considered, At last, he said, “Halloween has never been a holiday much esteemed by the magical community. It has its roots in pagan tradition amongst muggles, of course, but among magical folk it has little real significance. Not so at Hogwarts. In the early 1900s, a group of Muggleborn students held a dress up party in their common room as part of their cultural heritage. By the 1920s, this had become a cherished school-wide event. There were feasts, obviously. There was dancing. There was a Best Dressed competition. For reasons we all know, such traditions were stamped out by the 1970s and all we had left of them was the Halloween feast.” Lucius paused. “At no other wizarding school than Hogwarts could such a tradition come to fruition.” 

Murmurs broke out amongst the students as he sat and Minerva stood once more.

“Thank you, Professor Malfoy.” To the students she said, “I am delighted to announce that tomorrow night, the Halloween Ball will be held in the Great Hall. There will be prizes for the Best Dressed boy and girl, and among the staff, the Best Dressed Witch and Wizard. The Best Dressed will have the honour of opening up the ball. ”

_ This  _ sparked everyone’s interest, including Hermione’s. A tradition that hadn’t been practiced in decades? Just taking part, obviously, would be an absolute privilege. But winning? 

Hermione tried, and failed, to smother a truly diabolical smile. 

_ Now, wouldn’t that be something?  _

  
  


* * *

Twenty-four hours wasn’t very much time to plan a costume. 

Hermione didn’t  _ like  _ rushing things. She preferred to plan, to explore every option. But considering that her costume had to be ready by tomorrow evening, she didn’t really have the luxury of taking her time. 

Her choices were endless. Even when she tried to narrow it down, there were half a hundred women she would have gladly gone as. She gave real, serious consideration to the Bride of Frankenstein. Frankenstein was one of her favourite books. Unfortunately, the costume wasn’t ambitious enough and she wanted to win Best Dressed Witch. Besides, she wasn’t sure the Muggle classic would be recognised by Minerva, who would surely be making the final judgement. 

In the end, she went for Maleficent. The costume was achievable, and she felt confident that it would make an impression. The bat-like cloak took only a few minutes. The staff didn’t take much longer; for authenticity’s sake she transfigured a marble and a tree branch. Hermione hefted it in one hand, and was satisfied. It would be practically useless for directing and channelling magic, but as a prop, it did the job very nicely. She chose a simple black dress to wear underneath her cloak. Nothing too flashy. She wasn’t planning to take the cloak off anyway. 

She had wanted to give herself something a bit more impressive. With enough notice, she could have given herself dragon wings. Any possible substitutes seemed inadequate by comparison. She could do a partial transfiguration into a bird, of course, but scales were always tricky. She didn’t want to  _ moult  _ in front of the whole school. She thought about creating an illusion, but that felt somehow like cheating. 

The basics done, she moved to the finishing touches. So she spent an hour in front of the mirror instead. Every now and then she’d give her wand a little flick. 

Hermione’s reflection grinned back at her. She looked terrifying. Her eyes were a shining, catlike yellow. A pair of curving horns arched up from her head. When combined with the heels she was planning on wearing, they would give her some much needed height. Hermione gave the tips an experimental prod and found they were sharp to the touch. Taming her hair enough to fit under a black cap took a lot of wrangling and two bottles of Sleekeazys, but she was happy with the result. It only made her horns more prominent. Her skin was a queasy green. 

And yet, she thought, she looked quite beautiful.

  
  


* * *

  
  


All Hallow’s came, and the grey, blustery sky fulfilled its promise. A tempest raged outside the castle walls. All the windows had been shut and their charms raised, but even so, when Hermione walked through the castle, she could still hear the thunder and the wailing of the wind. She didn’t mind it. It only made her heart race, and besides, it was just  _ perfect  _ for tonight. 

As she walked through the open doorway and into the Great Hall, the first things that hit her were the noise and the smells. The feast was already in full swing, obviously. 

Even by the standards of Hogwarts, the Great Hall had been totally transformed. 

The ceiling was enchanted to look as though they were standing underneath a canopy of skeletal trees. Between the branches, Hermione could see the silhouette of the moon. The room was bathed in her pale light. The gentle light was interrupted by occasional harsh flashes of lightning that lit the sky. The effect was eerie, and very beautiful. 

A feast had been laid out, though the tables were pushed along the walls to make a great empty space for dancing. The feast was made overwhelmingly of pumpkin related foods, though there were great bowls of softly glowing eyes and students had to wrangle their cutlery from severed hands that crept along the tables. Slytherins snapped ribs from a row of crystalline sugar skeletons standing against the walls.

There was a band playing on a stage that had been magicked up in one corner of the hall. She had never heard of them, but the students seemed very excited and gathered around the stage. Their instruments were a mixture of pipes, violins, and enchanted guitars. They were making an incredible racket; screeching and thunderous, yet vaguely haunting. Hermione loved it, but she wished Minerva had gone with something a little more… traditional. Hermione wanted to dance. That was the whole point of a ball, wasn’t it? 

No-one was dancing yet, though. No-one could, until the winners were announced. So instead, students and staff members alike milled around the tables and ate, or talked to one another. It should have felt subdued, but it didn’t. It felt new. Exciting. People were already pointing and giggling at one another. 

A few of the students drew back from her. This only made her smile broadly, and then they recognised her and laughed weakly. She didn’t mind. She knew she looked quite the sight. Some of them, the muggleborns, pointed at her and called her Maleficent.

As far as the costumes went, the students had gone to great lengths to showcase their talent and creativity. They came dressed as centaurs and mermaids, Veela and vampires, and things that were stranger still. The costumes weren’t very good if you looked too close. This had been somewhat last-minute, after all, and most of the costumes were home made. One of them had actually covered himself in loo roll in a pretty uninspired attempt to turn himself into a mummy. The older and more talented students had bolstered their appearances with a few charms and transfigurations. A student with no head and a transparent leg walked around; a botched but nonetheless interesting take on an Ethereal Charm. 

Madame Pomfrey was chatting happily to Grubbly-Plank while a gaggle of adoring Hufflepuffs looked on. The Infirmary witch was dressed in a silver dress with a corset and a hooped skirt. She’d spun her grey hair up in a many-tiered, wispy arrangement. Hermione craned her neck and saw that she had little wings fixed on her back. The Fairy Godmother. 

Shortly after her, Tiberius made his entrance grandly. She hadn’t known what to expect, but this wasn’t it. The tall Ravenclaw wore a scarlet red overcoat trimmed with gold. Black leather boots came up to his thighs, and upon his head sat a large red hat, topped with an equally large feather. A sword was belted at his side, and he wore a silver glove on one hand. His hair was a silly-looking dark wig, with curled hair. 

A pirate, obviously, but not any old pirate. Tiberius had come as Captain Hook. 

“You look fantastic, Tiberius.” And he did. Tiberius’ tall, slender frame lent itself to the costume very well. He’d even gotten to keep his mustache. 

“Why thank you, Professor Granger. Your own costume is quite… striking. Are you a Succubus from the Infernal Tomes?”

“No. I’m Maleficent.” Although now he mentioned it, the resemblance  _ was  _ startling. 

Tiberius obviously had no idea who she was, but he didn’t ask anything further. He was too distracted by everything else going on around him. 

“Tiberius,” Hermione said, worry in her voice as she studied him, “is that a real sword?”

“As a matter of fact, it is! This is my great-great grandfather’s sword.” Excited, he drew it with a flourish. The sound of rasping steel was loud, and when the torchlight struck it, pearlescent arcs seemed to radiate from it. A trick of the light, or-?

“Tiberius,  _ honestly,  _ put that away before McGonagall- Oh my god, is that a Charm Killer?” Hermione gasped and drew away, but her hands reached  _ out  _ towards it. Fascinated and horrified. 

Tiberius didn’t share her wonder, only shrugging and saying, “I believe so. I seem to remember something about that in the old stories my grandfather used to tell me. I thought it went well with the costume.” Then he made a startled noise and said, “I say- Professor!”

Hermione had taken the sword from him without a word and was cradling it like a child in her arms. Her admiration was such that she couldn’t contain it; her love and admiration poured from her in a series of ever increasing compliments that made Tiberius grow redder and redder. 

“The scabbard, is it original? Does it have the maker's mark on it? It must be Goblin work. How on earth did you keep them from reclaiming it after the War? Unless it’s Fairy made… Tiberius, a piece like this is absolutely  _ priceless. _ ”

She was so fixated on the sword that she almost missed Lucius Malfoy’s entrance. Almost. But her eyes were drawn to him by a flash of colour that was gone as soon as she’d noticed it. 

Lucius was garbed in exquisite grey wizarding robes that accentuated a broad build usually kept hidden under layers of black. Even at this distance, she could see emerald flashing on his fingers. He wore his hair differently than usual. It flowed down one shoulder, ending in a plait. It softened his face, gave him vibrancy. Aside from that, though, he was… normal.

A small part of her was disappointed. She had been hoping to see Lucius dressed up. But it didn’t make a difference to her what he wore and anyway, Minerva had never said that wearing a costume was compulsory. 

On his way to the staff table, Lucius walked beneath a moonbeam and the light set his hair ablaze in a riot of gold and green, and Hermione forgot all about the sword. 

Entwined in his platinum hair was an intricate headpiece of precious metal and gemstones. Obviously antique, all powerful lines and gold leaf around clusters of emeralds sweeping down from the crown of his head. Some were as small as the head of a pin, though some were as large as pigeon eggs. It was elegant yet masculine, and suited him perfectly. 

The Potions Professor still hadn’t seen her. That was probably a good thing, because she had been staring. 

Lucius Malfoy hadn’t come dressed up as anything other than himself, but he was still far from ordinary. 

* * *

The evening carried on, but Minerva  _ still  _ hadn’t announced the winners. Hermione had passed the time with as much eating as she felt she could get away with, talking to the students and other faculty members, and taking note of all the best magic around her. 

She couldn’t help but notice that Lucius Malfoy was watching her from his seat at the table. He kept looking at her outfit, frowning, and glancing away. The Slytherin seemed deeply troubled. He wasn’t being subtle about it, either. He stared at her horns for so long he almost squinted.

Amused and curious, Hermione caught his eyes and nodded to the empty space beside her, and he made his way over. 

He sat next to her. This close, the light of his headpiece was almost blinding. 

“Professor Malfoy. Why were you staring at me like that?” She refused to feel like a hypocrite. 

He gave a quiet little sigh, as though defeated. “I do not know her. I apologise.”

“Excuse me?”

“The witch you are dressed as. I am embarrassed to admit it. You say she is a famous witch, but I do not know her.”

“Oh-!” Hermione considered, briefly, telling him the truth. But then she decided, why not have a bit of fun instead? “That’s a shame. She was really gifted.”

“Then my ignorance is more profound than I had believed. Enlighten me. What were her particular skills? You called her Maleficent, I believe. Was that meant to describe her, or was it actually her name?”

“It is both, though it is most commonly known as her name. As for her skills, she was good at a lot of things, but Transfiguration was what she was best at. She could take the form of a storm, or even a dragon.”

Lucius was deeply impressed. “Remarkable-! I had not believed such things were possible. I take it she is a particular favourite of yours. An inspiration, perhaps?”

Hermione was starting to wonder just how far she could take this. He just seemed so… earnest. So genuinely  _ interested. _

“Not really. Only in what she achieved.”

“Ah. Then I may assume she strayed into less reputable behaviour.”

“Erm-” Cursing a young woman into a coma out of self-preservation? Then trying to murder her and her boyfriend? “You could say that.”

He didn’t seem bothered by this, but then, she supposed, that only made sense. “It is a fine costume nonetheless.”

She was giving serious consideration to confessing the truth when a wave of laughter and cheers rippled through the room, and Hermione, like many of the other teachers, stood up to locate the source. 

A red and gold dragon gambolled into the Great Hall. 

It was a dragon made of tissue paper and poles that walked on three pairs of legs, but it was a dragon nonetheless. It had wings, though they were held up with some difficulty by the student in the middle of the costume. It’s scarlet head swung this way and that. It’s head snuffed out a Slytherin, bent over in a gag of revulsion and the students only laughed harder. The Slytherin in question swatted the dragon, and it went on. 

It was perhaps the least scary, least realistic representation of a dragon that Hermione had ever seen. The legs tried to walk in different directions at times and the wings were a complete mess. When the student in the middle didn’t have his arms at the perfect angle, they would dip and drag along the floor, causing more than one student to trip over them. 

Hermione groaned aloud. She just  _ knew  _ that there were Gryffindors underneath that costume. 

* * *

After all the stragglers had finally appeared, Minerva finally announced the winners of the contest. The Hall went completely silent in anticipation, and Hermione had to stop herself from bouncing up and down in her chair. 

“And the winners for the best dressed students are… Mr Thomas, Mr Chen and Mr Tregale for the boys!” The aforementioned boys bellowed and cheered in a way that made Hermione sigh. “And for the ladies, Miss Zeidane, for her lovely constellation costume. It seems that next year I will have to  _ specifically  _ ban students getting into a costume altogether. Since the three of you must think yourselves terribly clever, you won’t have any problems remaining  _ in  _ your costume for the dance with Miss Zeidane.”

The boys just let out another cheer at this. Apparently, they’d have it no other way.

“And for the Witches and Wizards… The title of Best Dressed Wizard goes to Professor Flint, for his marauder costume. Next time, please refrain from bringing a real sword. And for Best Dressed Witch…” Minerva paused, letting the anticipation build for just a moment before announcing, “Madame Pomfrey!”

The bitter tang of disappointment flooded her and she couldn’t help but screw up her face. She had so wanted to win. But Pomfrey  _ did  _ look wonderful. The students cheered, the winners looked proud, and Hermione tried very hard not to look too jealous. 

At Minerva’s signal, the winners all went and stood up together in the suddenly empty center of the room. 

Miss Zeidane, a Ravenclaw seventh year commonly acknowledged as the prettiest girl in school, stood about half a head taller than the dragon. She wore loose, voluminous robes of black velvet embroidered with a silvery star-map. Her face and hands were painted with similar designs. Her left eye was a blazing orange, her left a black vortex. She had apparently come as… creation itself? She looked absolutely incredible.

Hermione was very, very impressed with those Charms, and made a note to ask her about them later. It was hard to tell from a distance, but it looked as if the stars on her face and hands were moving.

Opposite her stood the Gryffindor dragon. Hermione looked at her students in a state of real anxiety.  _ Please do not embarrass me. The whole school is watching. This is the first time this ball has been held in forty years.  _

There was a real chance that this might end well. The boys had obviously put a lot of work into their costume. They would have planned something for if they won, wouldn’t they? 

Wouldn’t they? 

The band put away their guitars and began something that sort of resembled classical music, only with a great deal more banging. 

Tiberius bowed very low to Madame Pomfrey, who loudly said that she was too old for that, and nodded her head in return. Tiberius said something to the Infirmary Witch. Hermione couldn’t hear the exact words, but judging by his posture, it must have been something very gallant. Madame Pomfrey laughed, obviously used to the Arithmancy Professor’s odd ways. 

Hermione’s eyes fixed themselves on the Gryffindor dragon again. The boys were standing completely still. Hermione could almost hear their brain cells rubbing together.  _ Please, please just for once, can Gryffindor boys  _ **_not_ ** _ do something completely stupid? _

Tiberius and Pomfrey started to move through a very slow waltz. The difference between the two of them as dance partners was so startling that some of the students giggled. Hermione shut them up with a glare. Tiberius was a man in the prime of his life, and quite handsome, but he seemed really proud to stand up with Madame Pomfrey. As for Madame Pomfrey, she was smiling as she twirled in her shining dress. 

Meanwhile, Miss Zeidane stood watching the dragon, waiting to see what the Gryffindors would do.

At last, the boys looked at one another and grinned. Then the head started zig-zagging back and forth as fast as he could. The back end jumped up and down while whooping. The boy in charge of the wings started flapping his arms very,  _ very hard.  _

Hermione let her head fall into her hands.  _ Could have been a Ravenclaw, but oh no, the Hat just  _ **_had_ ** _ to sort me into Gryffindor, didn’t it-? _

But the Ravenclaw girl didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she clapped her hands together and giggled. Dancing with the dragon in a normal way was impossible, so instead she danced around him, skipping and jumping.

Only a minute or so later, the boy at the head of the dragon reached up, yanked off the head and yelled, “Merlin’s baggy y front pants, it’s hot in here!”

The crowd laughed and cheered. Thus encouraged, the dragon mustered enough strength to last a while longer. Miss Zeidane was laughing so hard that she staggered as she went round and round the dragon. Still, her eyes were shining. 

_ They’re having a wonderful time _ , Hermione realised. She’d been at Hogwarts for two months, and the students had come so far. 

_ Dumbledore would have loved this,  _ Hermione realised with a small amount of grief. Time had mostly healed that wound, but she couldn’t help herself from wondering what the old wizard would have dressed himself as. Something audacious yet classy, she mused. __

But there was joy, too. Dumbledore would have been proud of them all. 

At last, the first dance came to an end. Hermione hadn’t realised that she’d jumped to her feet and started clapping until the two couples stood still. The dragon collapsed, panting and heaving, as Madame Pomfrey checked the boys over with her wand. She didn’t seem overly concerned. 

All around her, people were leaping out of their seats to flood the dance floor. 

Lucius turned to her and said, “Well, Professor Granger, it would seem that we are the losers. Even so, I would very much like to dance with you, if you will agree.”

She’d been wanting to dance all night, and dancing with him… she had to admit, she was curious. Lucius Malfoy was a pretty decent Quidditch coach, and quite a good teacher, as far as she could tell. He was a good conversationalist. But could he dance? 

“Did you have anything in mind?” She asked, by way of answer. 

Pleased, he said generously, “Ladies choice, of course.”

Hermione thought about it. 

Dancing had made her nervous when she’d been a young girl, in that it was really a social exercise masquerading as a physical one. But she hated being bad at something, so she’d gone to great lengths to learn how it was done. If she ever found herself in a situation where she might be expected to dance, she refused to be shown up. The more she’d practiced, the more she’d discovered that dancing could be a lot of fun, particularly if you had a good partner. She had a feeling that Lucius Malfoy would be a good dancer. He wouldn’t have offered if he thought he’d embarrass himself. 

The tempo of the music didn’t match anything she liked; it had been planned with the children in mind, so it was fast and riotous. 

In the end, she decided to go for the most obvious choice. 

“The Walpurgan Waltz.”

It was a dance known only to witches and wizards. Traditionally danced on Halloween, it also happened to be her favourite dance. She’d never danced it properly, of course, but that didn’t matter. 

She almost expected him to complain. That he might find it a boring choice. But instead, he merely raised an eyebrow in surprise, nodded, and stood. 

They didn’t have to speak. There was no room for improvisation or flair with the Walpurgan. You either danced it correctly or you didn’t dance it at all. That’s what Hermione liked so much about it. Every movement, from beginning to end, was laid out in exact detail. It was like an equation. 

They stood opposite one another. Around them, the students ebbed away to give them space. Their surprise at seeing the two of them stand up together would have been almost comical to behold, if Hermione had been looking at them. She wasn’t.

She tried very hard not to think about all the people standing around them. About the fact that Minerva McGonagall would surely be watching them. 

He bowed to her. She curtseyed, spreading the shadow of her cloak behind her.  _ Oh, that’s just lovely.  _ Suddenly, she saw the appeal. He saw, smirked and reached out a hand to her, signalling that he was ready to begin. So was she. 

They stepped towards one another, and then apart. Every step, every turn of their heads, was a matter of mathematical precision. They came together again, and he ghosted a hand over her lower back. He did not touch her. 

It was slow, at first. Their movements were dignified, almost stately as they circled one another. She pivoted on her feet, as did he, and they drew closer and closer together, first this way, then that, until they were almost within reach...

He was always right where he should be. Her hand fluttered above his heart for a moment. She could not see his face; they always looked in opposite directions. She didn’t notice that everyone else had stopped dancing to stare at them, that the band had stopped making their racket in favor of something more medieval, that even the enchanted moon hanging above them seemed to be watching…

His grace was unthinking, natural. Hers was the result of hard work and talent. It didn’t matter. They ebbed and flowed together. They came close enough that she felt his breath huff against her hair and finally, they were permitted to look at one another. The shock of it almost knocked her out of her rhythm. Did he feel the same?

As the dance went on it became more and more complex and drove them faster and faster, until the moments where it was a waltz at all finally vanished altogether. Hermione had to bend the whole of her will to maintain the clear, cool composure the dance required. 

Could everyone hear her heart beating? Surely they could. What had possessed her to suggest this dance? And what had possessed  _ him  _ to agree? 

They had both gone mad. Beautifully, wonderfully mad, and they spun on and on, the fingers of their hands almost touching, his face was a mask but his eyes  _ burned... _

She was dancing with such speed now that her cloak was snapping behind her, and he pulled back as if struck. The balance shifted, the dance was in her favour, but hadn’t it always been? The time had come for  _ her  _ to be the pursuer. 

He retreated, but his steps were staggered in such a way that she could only catch him- he was under an enchantment… the dance was magic. She twisted, leaping. She flung out a hand to him, he had no choice, he fell to her, conquered, she seized him by the throat-

His pulse thrummed beneath her fingers, his pale eyes were wide- 

He was hers. 

They froze.

And just like that, it was over. 

There was a stunned silence, and then the school erupted into a feet-thumping, howling applause.

Hermione Granger pulled away. She pressed a hand to her chest, letting her breath come ragged at last. 

Lucius Malfoy bowed low to her, and she responded just in time. She was smiling giddily. 

A castle Elf came to rescue them with a tray of pumpkin juice. Hermione sagged with relief and Lucius caught up a goblet to extend it to her. She drained it in one gulp. 

The spectacle over, the students around them remembered that they were way too cool to be interested in any stupid dance the grown-ups liked, anyway, and went back to their own festivities. Lucius and Hermione were no longer important, and became only a witch and a wizard in the crowd. 

That was just what she needed, just now. Hermione took the opportunity to vanish her horns and cap and magic her hair into a neat coil at the nape of her neck. She should have done it before they’d started; she probably could have gored him with the things and never even noticed. 

“You are an excellent dancer.” Lucius said, as soon as he’d caught his breath. He sounded surprised. 

Hermione was a little offended by that. Why did people  _ always  _ assume she would be rubbish at dancing, just because she liked to read? Was it a rule? 

“Why would you assume I wouldn’t be?”

“I meant no offence, but you are an inventor and an academic. I had not imagined you would find much use or time for dancing.”

As he said this, he looked down and saw this cup was empty. Without thinking, she vanished it along with her own, and he smiled. He cocked an eyebrow in silent invitation and she nodded, and they drew near one another and danced again. 

By necessity, this one was slow. Back, forward, to the sides. And over and over. A child could have done it, but neither of them cared. They only wanted to create a situation where they might keep talking, undisturbed. 

Hermione pointed out, “Professor Flint is an inventor and an academic, but he can still dance.”

At the mention of his friend, Lucius grew gentle. “Tiberius is a Manor-raised Pureblood. He was dancing before he could cast spells.”

“There are books on dancing.”

Lucius smiled knowingly. “One cannot really learn to dance from books. You will not convince me that you learned to dance like that from a library, Hermione Granger.”

“And if the books are enchanted with moving pictures, which most modern magical books are?”

“A fair point.”

“I have to admit, though…” Hermione chewed her lip, and hesitated. He urged her on, and finally she finished, “That dance  _ is  _ a bit different on paper.”

“Still, it was superb.” He said warmly. “I only wish we’d done it at Durmstrang; if we had, half the room would have stood up with us.”

This was not the right thing to say. If there was anything that could make Hermione defensive, it was any sort of insinuation that any school could possibly be better than Hogwarts. She didn’t let herself dwell on it, but the idea that he might even think about going to another wizarding school was… irritating. He belonged here. 

“If you prefer it at Durmstrang, you should go teach there.”

“But why would I, when the company here is so good?” Lucius asked. He grew sober and added, “I mean no offence, Professor Granger. I only meant that the dance is more popular there. It has been many years since I have seen it danced in England, let alone had the pleasure of dancing it myself.”

She tried to remind herself that Lucius Malfoy was, in his own way, probably just trying to make conversation. It wasn’t his fault he could come across as a little… well, a little dismissive. She had been accused of being dismissive herself, in the past. 

“I didn’t realise the Walpurgan waltz could be danced with other people.” She said, moderating her tone. 

“It was designed for it. In its heyday, twenty wizarding couples would get up and dance together.”

Hermione frowned. She couldn’t imagine that. It was better that they had danced it by themselves. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


By the time other faculty members joined them on the dancefloor, Hermione had regained her former calm. Tiberius and Trelawney lanced through the crowd in an impeccable foxtrot. Neville was earnestly taking instructions on muggle dancing from a group of students. Hermione was glad to see the Herbology Professor relax. Hannah was almost ready to have their baby, and Neville had been very nervous, lately. 

One thing puzzled her, though.

After a perfectly executed spin, Hermione stated, “You surprised me, tonight.”

Lucius looked at her curiously as they spun across the floor together. “Oh?”

“You take a lot of pride in your appearance, but you didn’t dress up.” She didn’t mention the head piece. Letting him know how much she’d admired it didn’t seem wise, for some reason. “Why is that? I would’ve thought you’d jump at the chance.”

Lucius seemed flattered, but it didn’t last for long. He became serious and said, “The things that frighten me, Professor Granger, are not appropriate for a school event. And many of the costumes my colleagues and students deem acceptable, I would not wear. I fail to see the fun in dressing up as a merman, or a vampire. They are our magical brethren. To ridicule them for the sake of a party plays to the worst part of our instincts. They are not monsters.”

Hermione was torn between agreeing and questioning him further. She knew what Voldemort had planned for non-witches and wizards, and not just the muggles, no matter what he wanted his temporary allies to believe. 

“You really  _ have  _ changed.” She said, not realising she’d said it aloud.

Lucius laughed, and she went bright red. “That, of all things, is what convinced you?”

“That, and a few other things.” She said lightly. 

Hermione noticed Sinastra calling her over, and turned to Lucius with a pang of regret. “Do you mind-?” 

Graciously, he said, “Not at all. Thank you, Hermione. It has been… a rare pleasure.”

He bowed to her again, and she curtseyed, and they went their separate ways. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


At some point in the evening, Hermione managed to get Daniel Rosier alone (mostly) for a few minutes. He only had about eight of his fellow Housemates with him, which for a Slytherin, meant he was practically isolated. 

Scrambling for some vaguely natural way to ask him the question that she wanted to ask, she began, “So, Mr Rosier, how are your studies progressing?” 

Daniel Rosier took one look at her face and said, “Professor Malfoy already talked to me, Professor Granger. If you’re serious about wanting me there, I’ll join your Charms NEWTs class.”

“Really? That’s wonderful!” A smile lit on Hermione’s face that threatened to make her cheeks sore. Daniel was going to  _ excel.  _

“Professor Granger, I wanted to say- well, thanks. For letting me join the class. I’m really looking forward to it-”

Too excited to really hear him, Hermione rushed on, “We’ll set up a meeting to go over your revised lesson plan, I’ve drawn one up already, are you free tomorrow morning?”

Daniel Rosier froze. “Revised-? What?”

“You’ve already missed the first two months of term.” Hermione explained kindly. “You’re going to have to catch up on all the essays and classwork if you’re going to reach your full potential, Mr Rosier.”

Daniel cast a look of horror around at his friends, who were all sniggering at him. 

Hermione saw, but didn’t understand. She tried to soothe him, “Don’t worry, I’ve got it all sorted out! I’ve even taken your extracurricular activities into account. You’ll have plenty of time! You’ll even have an hour of free time or so every week!”

Unseen, Lucius Malfoy appeared behind Hermione’s shoulder and, using only his eyes, explicitly communicated to Daniel Rosier that he  _ would  _ take the class, and that was that. 

Daniel gave one beseeching look at his Head of House, who didn’t budge an inch. Finally, Daniel sighed and said, “Thank you, Professor Granger.” 

“You’re welcome, Mr Rosier!” Hermione beamed, and then spotted Miss Zeidane, “Oh gosh, sorry, got to go- see you in the morning, nine o’clock in my office!”

Miss Zeidane was more than happy to answer her questions. The Ravenclaw’s sun-and-black hole effect turned out to be an illusion spun mere millimetres over her real eyes. When Hermione inspected them up close, she could see a faint curve, just as real eyes had. Miss Zeidane had cast the illusion millimetre by millimetre and enchanted the inside so she could retain her sight. The clever things even followed every turn of her head. Hermione thought it was some of the best Charmswork she’d ever seen a student perform. Simple, elegant, and done with a fine attention to detail. 

Long after the Great Hall had started emptying, Hermione and a few other staff members and students remained, talking to one another. At some point, they all sat down together in a loose circle. 

The students were old enough, so the castle Elves bought drinks for them as well as the faculty. Thinking of the Head Club, Hermione chose a sherry for herself and they all sat and drank together, and talked about their studies. 

It was like a seminar, almost. The students had told her all about how their plans were going. Like every generation of OWLs and NEWTs students that had gone before them, they were torn between worrying themselves sick and feeling proud of their abilities and their knowledge. They talked about the magic they were working on. The essays they were having trouble with. They asked her, with varying degrees of subtlety, what she thought their exams would be like. These would be her first year as a Professor and they seemed to be a bit worried that she would be strict. 

Hogwarts exams were no longer written by the Ministry’s education department. One of Minerva’s many concessions for the school after the War (and Umbridge) was that Hogwarts had a lot more authority over the examination process. They now wrote the exam questions, and  _ then  _ sent them off to the Ministry for marking. 

Of course, Hermione dodged their questions, only telling them that if they studied, they would do well and if they  _ didn’t  _ study, they would probably do badly. This was not very well received, and the students tried (half-heartedly) to change her mind. She offered them more quizzes to help them gauge their capabilities, and they stopped asking. 

Ron would have called them swots. Hermione called them hardworking, ambitious, and determined. 

And through it all, Hermione just couldn’t stop smiling. This is what she had become a teacher for. This talent in this room alone… did the other teachers realise the potential of this year's crop of students? Did the students themselves realise what they were capable of? She would show them. With practice, with confidence, these could be some of the most promising students Hogwarts had ever seen. 

Lucius sat to her left for the rest of the evening. It seemed only natural that he should. They had a lot to say to one another tonight, and it didn’t make sense for them to be far apart. 

A new Charmswork shop had just opened up in Diagon Alley. Some of her inventions had been displayed in the shop windows on opening day, he’d heard. Had she been to the shop yet? Had she read Luna’s new book? What did she think of it? Did she think Minerva would hold a Yule Ball this year? If so, would she attend? 

Lucius was a constant source of conversation, and the night grew very late before she even noticed. 

By the time Hermione got to bed, it was four o’clock in the morning. 

She hadn’t wanted it to end. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooof, that took a lot of work! We worked our butts off with this one!
> 
> Do you know that with this chapter, the fic is now over 40k long? 40k used to be what I considered a 'long' fic when I first started reading fanfiction, so for me personally this is a huge milestone! 
> 
> I love to read your comments. I think I have some of the best readers of any Lumione I've read, just saying. It's so motivating to read your thoughts and theories!
> 
> If next chapter is a bit later than usual, I apologise in advance. These next two chapters are not as complete as I would like, so it may take some time! 
> 
> Until then, thank you very much for reading and I'll see you next time!


	8. Absent Companions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A massive thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter! I feel like we have a few new readers too, welcome!
> 
> Much love to my wonderful editor, as always!! Thank you for everything you do! I'm so grateful.

Days passed after the Halloween Ball, and it dominated Hermione’s thoughts just as much as it had when Minerva had first announced it. Or, one aspect of the Ball in particular. 

Her mind kept circling it. The sound of his voice when he’d asked her. The feeling of his skin beneath her fingertips when she’d grabbed him by the throat. 

It had been totally exhilarating. She didn’t regret it. She was an adult woman, and she wouldn’t feel ashamed of dancing with someone she enjoyed spending time with. 

So why did she feel so… unsettled? Was it the way he’d quirked an eyebrow when she’d named the dance? Was she worried, deep down, that he’d thought the choice of dance was inappropriate? That he had disapproved? 

No. Lucius Malfoy wouldn’t have said yes if he hadn’t wanted to. 

Her mind, so committed to solving problems, just wouldn’t leave it alone. Finally, she figured it out. 

She was embarrassed. Not because she’d danced with him, or spent time with him. She was embarrassed by how vulnerable she had allowed herself to become that night. Lucius Malfoy had shown real capacity for kindness towards her, and she enjoyed spending time with him very much, but when she’d danced with him, she’d lost herself. 

That frightened her. Hermione rarely did  _ anything  _ without being in control. It wasn’t his fault. Far from it. But she’d been reckless, and that was inexcusable. In that moment, she’d been vulnerable to him. Hermione wasn’t vulnerable to  _ anyone.  _ She had been totally unaware, totally uncaring, totally lost in… joy. That couldn’t happen again. 

There was nothing wrong with enjoying Lucius’ company. She believed that he was no longer the same man who had supported Voldemort. But that was no excuse not to be professional. She didn’t want people to get the wrong idea, him least of all. 

When they saw one another, Lucius showed no sign that he was facing the same problems that she was. He would give her the same nod as always, accompanied by a smooth, ‘Professor Granger’ if students were present, or ‘Hermione’ if they weren’t. Maybe she was overthinking things. It was a common problem of hers. 

Hermione turned over in her bed. Her feet were icy cold, reminding her that  _ once again,  _ she was alone. She threw a hand over her eyes and sighed angrily. 

Where the  _ hell  _ was Crookshanks? 

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Professor Granger.” Professor Sinistra began gently. “Are you unwell?”

“No.” Hermione said. Her tone was a little sharp, and Sinistra gave her a penetrating look. 

Hermione and the Astrology Professor were in Hermione’s Charms room, preparing for a dual lesson on the effect of various planetary bodies on Charms. Because of the more cerebral nature of Sinistra’s field, it was going to be a lecture. They were trying to figure out how they were supposed to stop the students from falling asleep by making it as engaging as possible. 

It would be more accurate to say that  _ Sinistra  _ was trying. Hermione couldn’t focus. She dipped her quill in its inkwell every now and again, but that was all. She couldn’t write a word. 

“I don’t mean to pry, but we have been here for half an hour now. You have suggested nothing, and everything I suggest, you reject. It is not like you to be so…” 

Hermione grimaced. “Close-minded, irritable, and rude?”

“I wouldn’t have used those words…” Sinistra said. “But yes. Is something the matter?”

“I’m sorry, Sinistra. It’s Crookshanks.” 

“Crookshanks?”

“My cat. I haven’t seen him for days.”

Sinistra finally put down her notes. “I see. You are worried about him.”

Hermione was  _ very  _ worried, actually. Like many cats, Crookshanks liked to roam, but this was abnormal. He  _ always  _ slept with her at nights, and for him not to come for his meals was… well, it was unprecedented. 

She knew that bringing him to Hogwarts had been a huge change. But he really had seemed totally fine after the first day or two after the move. Being part Kneazle, he was a bit more adaptable than an ordinary cat. 

Sinistra took this silence as an affirmative. “I think the solution to your problem is quite obvious.” When she saw she had Hermione’s attention, she went on. “Our Headmistress has a cat animagus. Why not ask her to help you find him?” 

The idea had honestly never occurred to her. “McGonagall? She’s far too busy to help me with something like this.”

“In that case, why not ask Hagrid or Wilhemina? They both know a great deal about animals of all kinds.”

Hermione gave it some thought. Hagrid would not be her first choice. He was a dear, sweet man, and if Crookshanks were only a Kneazle, she was sure that Hagrid would do a wonderful job of finding him. Unfortunately. Crookshanks was also part cat, and that meant that the massive groundskeeper would probably only frighten him off. Hagrid was intimidating to look at, and his footsteps were very, very loud. 

Wilhelmina, though…. She had a genuine, powerful love of animals, and she and Hermione had become good friends. She was also the sort of person who Hermione felt she could rely on in a crisis. Hermione felt a hope kindle inside her that she hadn’t felt for days. 

“Thanks Sinistra, that’s a really good idea.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Hermione took the first opportunity she saw to broach the subject. Unfortunately, this opportunity didn’t come as soon as she’d hoped. 

Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, she learned, could be a difficult woman to find. Their schedules conflicted and speaking to her before or after class was simply impossible. She spent most of her free time caring for animals, and not only the ones she used in her class. The Care of Magical Creatures Professor was always in high demand, it seemed. Someone always had a familiar who needed her attention. 

On the rare occasions where Hermione was able to find out that she  _ wasn’t  _ taking care of the various sprained ankles and unsettled stomachs of the familiars of Hogwarts, she would be busy helping Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest. No matter where she looked, infuriatingly, Hermione always seemed to just miss her. 

In the end, Hermione ended up approaching her in the one place she felt relatively confident that they would both be at the same time; the Head Club. 

Wilhelmina was sitting in her favourite place; the overstuffed armchair by the fire. Tiberius and Lucius were there, of course, but she paid them less notice than she normally would. It had been almost a week since she’d last seen Crookshanks and she was nearly frantic, so she got right to it. 

“Wilhemina, I need your help with something.”

“What do you need?” Wilhelmina asked simply, and Hermione felt a rush of gratitude. 

“It’s Crookshanks. He sleeps with me every night but I haven’t seen him at all, recently. He doesn’t even come for breakfast, which really isn’t like him.” 

There was a pregnant silence. Across the room, Tiberius sent Lucius a thrilled, scandalised look which Lucius returned with scowl, and a shake of his head. 

Meanwhile, Wilhelmina assessed Hermione with a very wise expression. The Care of Magical Creatures Professor seemed to be reevaluating her opinion of her, though to what end, Hermione had no idea. 

Just when Hermione was about to prod her, Wilhelmina said, “Hermione, if you’re having boy trouble, I would be happy to help, but I’d rather not do it with the men present. No sense giving away all of our secrets, is there?”

Hermione realised, and was mortified. 

“Crookshanks is my  _ cat. _ ” She explained. 

A chorus of ‘ohhh’s’ went through the room. Tiberius looked quite disappointed. Lucius was harder to read, but for a moment, she saw a flash of  _ something  _ across his face. Had he been hoping to discover who had given her the Fairy robes? She wouldn’t be surprised. 

Teachers, she was beginning to learn, were shameless gossips. 

Wilhelmina alone didn’t seem to care. “Ah, I see. Well, if it’s a male of the feline variety you’re after, I have just the thing. Do you have any of his hair?”

“Oh, yes.” Hermione probably had a small mountain of it on her blankets alone. 

“I have a tracking charm that will do just the trick. Give me a pinch or two of his hair, and I’ll find your cat for you.”

Hermione was so thrilled at this that she could barely speak. At this point, she was beyond something so simple as merely missing him. All she wanted was to know that Crookshanks was alright. 

“Forgive me,” Lucius said, speaking for the first time since Hermione had come into the room, “But from what I understand of cats, they often like to roam. Perhaps he has simply found himself a companion, or some new hunting spot. There may not be any cause for alarm.”

“No.” Hermione said, surprised by how vehement she sounded. “No, I’m sorry, but you don’t understand. I know that most witches and wizards aren’t especially close with their familiars, but I really care about Crookshanks. He’s more like… a pet.” She said, not knowing how much that would mean to Lucius. “He’s my responsibility. I have to take care of him.”

This, Lucius seemed to understand. 

“And besides,” She added. “He’s a little too old for that sort of thing, anyway.”

This made Lucius a little cross, but he still replied, “Very well. I will join the search. Tiberius, I assume you will as well?”

Startled, but very pleased, Hermione asked before Tiberius had the chance to answer, “You will?”

“Another pair of eyes cannot hurt. We will follow your direction.”

“Quite right, old boy!” Tiberius exclaimed. “I have made a study of the habits of many predators, including Kneazles. They often feel secure in high places, in which case, Lucius and I may be of service. Rest assured, we will return your… what did you call him? Your pet.”

Hermione looked round at each of them. They seemed totally sincere. Wilhemina and all her steady competence. Tiberius crackling with energy but trying to appear stern. Lucius, calm and emitting an icy determination. He looked more like he was facing the prospect of battle than rescuing a grumpy old cat. 

It was as this moment that Hermione realised how truly, incredibly lucky she was. How lucky she had always been. Even at the worst times of her life, she had always been blessed with people who would do anything to help her. It seemed that the good times would be no different. 

Really grateful, if a little bemused, Hermione asked, “When can we start?”

  
  


* * *

It turned out, Wilhelmina and the men were ready and willing to start immediately. 

This was something of an embarrassment, because the three of them insisted on following her to her rooms right away, before she’d had a chance to clean up. Hermione was meticulously organised by nature, but she was also an inventor, and sometimes she forgot to tidy as she went. She also refused to let the castle Elves clean her room, which didn’t help. 

This meant her desk was strewn with research materials and binders full to the brim with notes. Luckily for her, it was this exact messiness that made it very easy to find a bit of cat hair and give it to Grubbly-Plank. 

“Do you wear glasses?” Grubbly-Plank asked her. 

When Hermione replied that she didn’t, Grubbly-Plank said, “Tiberius, your monocle.” Holding out her hand as she retrieved her wand- chestnut- from her robes. Tiberius gave her a worried glance, but complied. 

Mumbling, Grubbly-Plank laid a single strand of the orange hair over the glass of the monocle, then zigzagged her wand over it four times, first in one direction, then another. 

The monocle gave the smallest of shudders in the palm of her hand, before starting to glow a deep orange. The light was a little fuzzy at first, but as Hermione watched, it grew brighter and sharper. 

Wilhelmina smiled in satisfaction. “There. That’s it.”

“How will this help me find Crookshanks? Is it some sort of scrier?”

“In a way. It will help you follow his footsteps by tracking his hair. Best I can do with a creature of his size, unfortunately. Just put it on, Hermione, and follow the trail.”

Putting it on was fiddly work. Hermione had never worn a monocle before and this one had obviously been made with someone much larger than her in mind. In the end, she had to screw the right side of her face up at a really awkward angle to keep it lodged in place. 

The difference was immediate. 

Her left eye saw just the same as before but to her right eye, the whole of the room was drowned in orange. Pulsing, orange lights. Some large only the size of a pinprick. Hermione looked down. The floor. She looked up. The  _ ceiling. _ How? 

Seeing her jaw drop open, Grubbly-Plank frowned. “Hermione? Didn’t it work? I’ve used that charm for years-” 

Wordlessly, Hermione left them and went out the door. The landing was just the same. It was all orange, every inch of it.  _ Really, Crookshanks?  _

Her heart sank even as a rueful smile twisted her lips. Of course, she should have known that this wouldn’t be that easy. 

Hermione could hear Tiberius fretting behind her. The Arithmancy Professor could fret in such a way that it communicated his distress without making very much noise at all. 

Sure enough, he asked, “Professor, if you please-?” She gave him the monocle. With practiced ease, he slipped it on and cocked his head quizzically with a muted,  _ “I say! _ ”

Tiberius turned to the other Heads, and gasped loudly.

“By Merlin-! Don’t look, Lucius, don’t look.”

Lucius didn’t understand at first. Then he looked down at himself. His face curdled slowly into horror.

“But I have never even met the creature-!”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s Crookshanks.” Hermione said, feeling quite embarrassed. Then she turned to Wilhemina and said, regretfully, “Thanks for trying, but I don’t think this is going to work.”

Wilhelmina was not to be put off, however. If anything, her will only grew stronger. “I’ve tracked many magical creatures in my time, Hermione. Most of them aren’t caught right away. I  _ will  _ find him.”

Hermione went up to her, and threw her arms around the startled old witch in a tight hug. 

  
  


* * *

In the end, Wilhelmina didn’t bring Crookshanks back to Hermione. Lucius found him first. 

He knocked on the door to her office the day after their failed attempt to track the cat down. 

Hermione was burying her worries in work, as she always did, so she didn’t immediately hear him knock. He had to gently call her name before she finally realised, and waved her hand to let him in.

Though it couldn’t have been eight o’clock in the morning, Lucius Malfoy wore his usual aristocratic garb; a long black cloak to protect against the winter chill, over a black suit. 

Hermione would have offered him a seat, but Lucius said straight away, “I have found your companion.” He said this with perfect aplomb. “He is quite well. I didn’t want to disturb him, so I thought I might take you to him instead.”

_ Disturb him?  _ Hermione didn’t want to waste a single second, so she left her questions to one side and only said, “Take me to him.”

Lucius took her, of all places, to the Owlery. He went straight past the Lost and Found cupboard and the Birdkeepers office, and headed for the rows upon rows of nesting boxes, perches and cages where the owls of Hogwarts came to roost. 

Suddenly she knew where Lucius was taking her, and she cut in front of him to where Atlas, her owl, was kept. 

Other owls had perches, or even cages, but that hadn’t been good enough for Atlas. He had sulked and flapped his wings at her until she’d sorted out something a little more to his tastes. The eagle owl had his own private enclosure about the size of her office. The other birds gave it a wide berth. 

The door was open, and she went inside. 

The enclosure was strewn here and there with boulders for variety, but most of the space was dominated by branches arrayed in a vaguely tree-like shape standing about ten feet high. Up on the highest branch, Atlas was asleep; his head tucked down and his wings drawn tightly in. At his feet, somehow keeping his balance, was Crookshanks. The cat was resting his chin upon Atlas’ great clawed feet. He seemed as supremely comfortable as only a cat could be. 

Even from this distance, she could hear Crookshanks purring. 

Coming to stand beside her, Lucius explained, “I saw him fly in. I have a fondness for eagle owls myself. They are magnificent birds.”

Hermione was only half listening. “But they  _ hate  _ each other.” She could hear the wonder in her voice. She knew that for owls, sleeping upright was only natural. But to her human eyes, there was something so  _ protective  _ about the way that Atlas stood over Crookshanks. As if he was standing guard. 

Bemused, Lucius asked, “Do they? I would call them inseparable.” 

But at this moment, Atlas finally woke up from his slumber, and stirred. His great amber eyes opened, settled on the witch and the wizard, and filled with utter disgust. Beside her, Lucius huffed. She had no idea if he was amused, or offended. 

Hermione felt oddly obliged to apologise for her bird’s horrible attitude, but Crookshanks woke up before she could say a word. The orange cat stretched luxuriously, bounded down with effortless grace to the ground, and came to sit at Hermione’s feet. 

The orange cat looked up at her. He seemed to feel absolutely no guilt for the sleepless nights he’d given her, the fear she’d felt at the thought of him lost or hurt. 

Instead he tipped back his head and yowled, informing her that he had never been fed before in his entire life. 

Hermione sighed, but smiled all the same. She knelt down and Crookshanks leapt easily into her arms. Standing, she sank her face into his soft fur and started smothering him with kisses. 

“Thank you, Lucius.” 

* * *

The letter was short. Extremely short, in fact. 

_ “Sorry you had to find out about it like this, Hermione. How’re you holding up?” _

Hermione had woken up to it that morning. The letter was from Harry, and Hermione had absolutely no idea what it was referring to. Sorry she had to find out about  _ what  _ like this? 

Whatever it was, Harry obviously thought she already knew about it. Hermione penned him a reply explaining that she honestly had no idea what he was on about, and to write her a proper explanation as soon as possible, and then sat around for half an hour, feeling sick with anxiety. Surely nothing could have happened to Amelia? Harry could never have been so flippant if that had been true. Finally, she went down to breakfast. There was no point waiting for a reply that could take hours to arrive.

On her way there, Hermione couldn’t help but notice that several staff members were going out of their way to avoid her. Professor Flint barely paused long enough to offer to carry her things before racing past her in the opposite direction of Ravenclaw Tower the second she refused. This was very unusual. Flint never usually gave up that easily. 

The final nail in the coffin was when she saw Barry Lynch, the Caretaker, levitating a worn-looking portrait by his side. At the sight of her, the young man paled. He turned sharply and walked in the other direction. 

Hermione called after him, and he broke into a trot and was out of sight in moments. _ What in Merlin’s name is going on?? _

Hermione sat down to breakfast. “Morning, everyone.” She said cheerily, testing them. 

In reply, they mumbled. Right. So, whatever it was, everyone knew about it. 

She took up a copy of the Daily Prophet, not seeing how the rest of the faculty flinched. Dementors had been sighted on the outskirts of Dartford. That was a real worry. The Aurors were being spread very, very thin trying to keep them at bay. Hermione shook her head, and turned the page.

And there it was. 

The Weasley family was proud to announce the engagement of their youngest son, Ronald, to Emily Wainwright. 

It should have shocked her silly, but her brain took over, and she poured over the article. 

The announcement was a perfectly standard one, which for wizarding families meant a photo with the whole family present. Ron stood with the young woman in the center, her family standing all behind her, and his behind him. This made it quite a large photo, because of how many Weasleys there were. They were all smiling and fawning over Ron and his fiancee, particularly Arthur, who looked fit to burst. 

Hermione’s turned her attention to the young couple. 

They looked good together. Emily Wainwright. Hermione frowned in momentary confusion. She’d never heard of a wizarding family by that name. A closer look at the woman’s clothes confirmed her suspicions. They were comfortable and modern. Quite pretty looking. She was a muggle. That would explain how deliriously happy Arthur looked. 

Hermione was trying to wrap her head around it. Ron was getting  _ married _ . It was a bit soon, wasn’t it? At least, considering he obviously couldn’t have known this girl for very long. Where would they have even met? Was she one of Harry’s old school friends? Hermione discounted that idea almost immediately. She couldn’t be. As far as Harry told it, he’d  _ had  _ no school friends. 

All around her, the staff were desperately trying to pretend that they didn’t know how to read. Or that they had forgotten that she was there. They stared at the bottom of their teacups, ate very slowly, and inched further and further away from her. 

Did they think she would explode? Did they think she would set the  _ Prophet  _ on fire and throw a screaming tantrum? 

She was unhappy that it hadn’t worked out between the two of them, but she also knew that breaking up with him had been the right thing to do. And yes, it bothered her that they had gone so far, so fast. Could this young woman really understand what she was doing by involving herself in the wizarding world as a muggle? Had Ron thought to explain the risks to her? Had anyone? 

But Hermione didn’t know this girl. She didn’t want to see her come to harm, by any means, but nor could she pretend that she was this upset purely out of concern for her safety. Maybe she was just sad that someone she had once been so close to, even if it had been a romantic closeness, had gotten engaged, and she’d only found out from a public announcement. His life had been moving forward too. She just wasn’t a part of that anymore, just like he wasn’t a part of hers. 

It was a difficult thought, but not an untrue one. That wasn’t all of it, though. There was something else that bothered her about it. She just didn’t quite know what it was. 

Sighing, she turned to her fellow staff members. They all grimaced. Trelawney dropped her teacup into her bowl of soup with a  _ plop.  _ No-one laughed, though Tiberius did remember himself at least far enough to help the frazzled Seer. 

“Really, everyone. I’m completely fine.” Hermione assured them. They didn’t seem to quite believe her. Minerva gave her a sympathetic look; the old witch had a caring, compassionate heart underneath her iron exterior. “I’m not the sort of person who wants her ex boyfriend to be single forever. That would be pathetic.”  _ And cruel. _ “Besides, I did end it for a reason.” Hermione didn’t love Ronald. She didn’t think she ever really had. That didn’t mean that she wanted him to be miserable. 

Hermione finished off her tea. Perhaps, given the situation, it would be better for her to relax today. She’d wanted to spend the day with Crookshanks anyway. Maybe she could go see Hagrid later on. He cared about both of them, so he probably wouldn’t be as awkward as everyone else around her. Probably. 

She would have to write Ron a letter of congratulations. It would be immature not to, and it would be noticed. While she and Ron weren’t exactly friends anymore, she was close with Ginny and Harry. She didn’t want to make things hard for them. And she honestly was happy for him, or she knew that she would be very soon. She just didn’t know exactly when that would be. 

What hurt, what actually  _ stung,  _ was the fact that Ron had obviously told Harry not to mention that he was in a serious relationship. There was no way that Harry would have just chosen not to mention it. Ron must have convinced Ginny too, now that she thought about it. What could he possibly have gained from secrecy? Had she ever, even in their nastiest fights, given him any reason to think that she would lash out at him for moving on? She’d never done anything to win him back, never been cruel to him on the rare occasions they had seen one another after the breakup. Treating her like a villain when she’d done nothing wrong… that was just- well. 

It was just so  _ typical  _ of him. 

* * *

As it turned out, an afternoon with Hagrid had been just what the doctor ordered. 

The groundskeeper didn’t read the papers, but he hadn’t had to. Hagrid still got frequent visits and letters from Harry and Ron, so he’d already known, and he’d assumed that she’d known as well. She’d been able to have a good long talk with him. 

Hagrid still liked Ron very much. Hagrid would always like anyone who was both Harry’s friend  _ and  _ a former Gryffindor. Even so, the groundskeeper came as close to abusing Ron as he possibly could, in that he said he was ‘a right bellend’ for keeping things a secret the way he had, and that his fiancee, while undoubtedly a very pretty and lovely woman, wasn’t ‘near so smart or so pretty as you, Hermione.’

That had really been all she needed to hear. After an hour or so of talking about Ron, she was able to steer the conversation back towards happier topics. They chatted about Harry and Ginny’s baby, speculated on whether they would be having any more, and Madame Maxime. Hagrid had been invited to Beauxbatons for a few months and Hermione was trying to bully him into accepting. Hagrid never took any time off, and Madame Maxime obviously wanted the two of them to make things a little more serious. 

“You know, Hagrid, I think these are your best rock cakes yet.” Hermione observed as she took a bite. And they were. They were noticeably softer than usual, and the taste was actually… nice. They were now something she could imagine herself eating of her own free will, rather than just to avoid hurting Hagrid’s feelings. 

Hagrid suddenly went red. “Er- about tha’. It’s Emily’s recipe. Got golden syrup in it. Hope ye don’t mind.”

Hermione’s hand froze in the act of bringing her rock cake to her mouth. Then, she took a deep breath through her nose and finished it off. “It’s lovely, Hagrid. She’s a good cook.”

Hermione had to bite back the rest of what she’d been about to say, which was that anyone Ron was going to marry would  _ have  _ to be a good cook, as he would expect her to do everything around the house for him, just as his mother had done. 

Not knowing what she was thinking, Hagrid visibly relaxed, though he still looked a little guilty. Hermione made her excuses to leave not long after that. 

She went up the rocky path to the castle, unsure of how to feel. The peace she’d found at Hagrid’s had been soured by the reminder that so many of her friends had known, and kept it from her. Everyone had secrets. But the fact that so many people had known didn’t sit right with her.

Hermione came to a stop, feet scuffing against the uneven stone of the path. 

Not so far ahead of her, two men stood silhouetted against the setting sun. 

Both were tall, with imposing figures. They stood side on. Their faces were covered in shadow, but Hermione knew exactly who they were. She just knew it. 

The first, with longer hair pulled into a ponytail that fell past his shoulders. His hands were always moving, gesturing expansively. Persuasively. Lucius bloody Malfoy. 

The other was built like a brick wall. Where Lucius’s body language was friendly and open, this one’s was closed, stoic and considering. He nodded every now and again. He stood with the confidence of a man who feared very little. She couldn’t see much, but she could see that the blood red cloak he wore over one shoulder was fur-lined. Undeniably, indisputably, Viktor bloody Krum. 

Viktor Krum, the boy who’d loved her. The boy whose letters she’d ignored to avoid incurring Ron’s jealousy, now Seeker of the Quidditch World Champions and very much a man.

Viktor must have said something because Lucius laughed, clapped the younger man on his shoulder, and led him in the direction of the Quidditch Grounds. Hermione watched them go, jaw clenched. 

_ Oh, for God’s sake.  _

* * *

Hermione made her way to her rooms as fast as she could and Floo’d Ginny. 

The redhead didn’t let her get a word in. “Hermione- look. I’m really sorry about, you know. My idiot brother. I feel awful for going along with it, but he made me promise-”

Struggling to regain her breath, Hermione said, “Ginny, look, I know he’s your family- Can we talk about that later?” And she explained what she had seen. 

Hermione had been expecting the Coach to curse up a storm, but instead Ginny only nodded. “I was thinking he’d try something like this.” Ginny said. “He’s not bad, for an amateur, but he was never going to win the Cup against me.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Do? Same thing as before, Hermione. I’m going to beat Slytherin, you’re going to get the Inter-House cup, and Lucius Malfoy is going to cry in front of the entire Quidditch pitch.” 

Hermione grimaced. “Ginny, I don’t think he’s the crying type.”

“Don’t you? Well, he will be by the time I’m done with him. Bringing Viktor Krum in?” Ginny scowled. It was like a thundercloud had come over her fair face. “I  _ hate  _ cheaters.”

* * *

Hermione went to breakfast the next morning with a spring in her step. 

Admittedly, the spring was somewhat forced. She’d been practicing though, so it didn’t come across too badly. 

She came in to cheers, but they weren’t for her. The Slytherin table was going beserk, and sure enough, Viktor Krum stood at the head of the table, side by side with Lucius Malfoy. 

The last time she had seen Krum (except for last night, where he had mostly been obscured by shadow) had been at Bill and Fleur’s wedding. Beneath his fur-lined scarlet cloak, his jacket was a dark maroon, with onyx dragon hide covering the shoulders. Hermione shook her head in wonder. Somehow, he’d gotten taller, more muscular, and better looking. It was actually kind of incredible, if you liked that kind of thing. 

The students of the House of Merlin crowded round them, pleading for autographs, for personal training sessions, for advice. 

Krum was stern, serious, and very intense. Lucius was soaking up all the adoration of his students, looking very, very pleased with himself. 

As for the students of the other Houses, the girls by and large were shooting the world-class Seeker adoring looks. The more subtle of his admirers giggled at him from behind their hands, but most just outright pointed and praised his good looks and Quidditch skills aloud.

The majority of the boys, however, were  _ not  _ impressed. She heard a Gryffindor shout, “He didn’t even go here!” 

That was a good point, actually, but Minerva must have given the appointment her seal of approval. Lucius would never have brought Krum here without her consent; that would have achieved nothing except a public humiliation if she refused him. 

Lucius’s grey eyes shot to hers as she passed him. There was an anticipation in them that confused her. Had he been waiting for her, to watch her reaction to the new Slytherin coach? 

Viktor noticed that Lucius’ attention had shifted and he followed his gaze to her. Any hope that Hermione had been nurturing that Viktor Krum had gotten over his feelings for her died in that moment. The Seeker still stood tall and firm. He did not move a single inch or say a single word, but his whole heart was in his eyes. She sighed internally.

“Good morning, Viktor. Lucius.” Hermione said, and went right past the both of them without breaking stride. She felt their eyes on her, heard a little indignant squawk; that had to be Lucius. Viktor Krum was too stoic for such an outburst.

And then she tucked right into her breakfast, refusing to hazard a glance at either of them until she was almost done. Then she allowed herself one small look. 

Lucius Malfoy was staring at her with an expression she wasn’t used to seeing on his face. Was- was Lucius  _ pouting?  _ Yes, yes he absolutely was. 

Hermione grinned at him, she didn’t bother holding it back. Lucius looked pretty cute when he pouted. 

Lucius started, blushed, and turned away from her. She saw him pull the shroud of professionalism across his face a second too late. Hermione had won this round, and she knew it. 

She ate breakfast quickly, not wanting to drag it out today. She didn’t blame the students for being excited, but all the noise was starting to get on her nerves. Predictably, Lucius caught her in the corridor. Unfairly, he didn’t have to run to catch up to her. His long legs made it easy for him. 

“Hermione Granger,” Lucius said, sounding really annoyed. He wasn’t pouting anymore, which was a shame, but he definitely looked put out. “Is there anything that goes on in this castle that you  _ don’t  _ know about?”

Hermione kept walking. “Plenty of things, actually.” 

By her side, the Potions professor seethed. “How  _ did  _ you know? I was very careful-”

She didn’t elaborate. It turned out she didn’t need to. Within moments, Lucius was spiralling down a series of increasingly ridiculous theories, entirely without her help. Had she been watching the Floo Network? Did she have spies at Durmstrang? Had she intercepted one of his owls, resealed it, and sent it on to him?

The fact that he believed that she was capable of all these things was actually… really flattering. She refused to acknowledge the possibility that Lucius Malfoy, while very clever, had simply fallen into the typical Slytherin pitfall of imagining conspiracies and intrigue where oftentimes, the simplest answer was actually the right one. 

Soon, the Great Courtyard was ahead of them. The sun was shining. It was a winter sunshine, but that had always been one of her favourites. 

It was all the invitation she needed. Hermione had about twenty minutes before her next class. She might as well use it. She saw a nice flat space underneath one of the old oak trees in the middle of the courtyard and made a beeline right for it. Lucius followed at her heels. 

The rays kissed her cheeks as conjured up a blanket and she settled down beneath the tree. Pure bliss. Feeling a spark of inspiration, she  _ Accio’d  _ her work-journal into her waiting hand and started flipping through at random- there. Her latest idea that had been sadly neglected the last few weeks; a telescope that recorded what it saw and could adjust its magnification on command. It was trickier Charmwork than she’d first assumed, which was why she’d put it on hold, but now... Hermione smiled as Lucius Malfoy ranted and raved, but didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reply. It was more fun that way, anyway. 

She got to work. It was a beautiful day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter isn't as fast-paced or as significant as the last one was, but tbh their relationship won't always progress in leaps and bounds. We are getting somewhere, though, I promise. Fun chapters up ahead. 
> 
> Massive props to reader Zeeksmom, who called Viktor Krum being Slytherin Coach... what, three chapters ago? I couldn't believe it, but you know what? Nicely done!
> 
> I have a very important question for you guys, though... in terms of Lumione, which one of them is Crookshanks and which one is Atlas? 
> 
> Next chapter might be a bit delayed as it needs a fair amount of work, but I will try to get it to you guys ASAP. 
> 
> Your reviews are like Jason Isaacs ears; an unexpected but much loved gift. I am truly grateful for every single one of them.


	9. Extracurricular Activities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! 
> 
> My editor and I worked super, super hard on this one. I think this chapter has needed more editing, research and plain old hard work than any other chapter thus far. Thank you, JessariOfErebor. You're an angel. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading so far, enjoy this new chapter! Hope you are all keeping safe and well, wherever you are. 
> 
> I've updated the tags, so please feel free to check those out if you like!

Hermione took in her office with hands on hips and a critical eye. 

After the revelation of Atlas and Crookshanks’ genuine affection for one another, she’d been forced to remodel. She’d spent her first day off reorganising, charming, and revamping the office so that there would be enough space for all of them. After all, she hadn’t brought Crookshanks and Atlas all the way to Hogwarts with the intention of practically never seeing them. It hadn’t been easy, but she felt pretty proud of the results. 

She’d prioritised her books until she only had three bookshelves and charmed her desk to make it a little smaller. A great silver bird perch now stood beside her desk. Neville’s great blackboard had been turned on its side and stretched up to the ceiling. Whenever she needed to use it, she could just float herself up and down it. The extra space had freed up room for a massive bird stand for Atlas; a few oak branches and a charmed sheet underneath that the unfortunate realities of avian anatomy had made necessary. She did  _ not  _ want her office smelling like an owlery. She’d also managed to stick a cat basket on a fork between two branches with a handy Adhesive Charm, just in case. She had no idea if Crookshanks would use it, but at least it gave him the option. 

Hermione nodded in satisfaction. Since she spent more time in her office than she did in her actual bedroom, this wasn’t such a bad way for her to be able to spend time with both of them, and to give them the opportunity to spend time with one another if they so chose. 

She turned to her familiars, who were currently perched on opposite ends of her desk. Waving at the office, she asked, “Well?”

Crookshanks bounded down from her desk, trotted across the room and with perfect calm, started sharpening his claws on Atlas’ tree. Atlas made a  _ very  _ unhappy sound and flew over to him. Hermione watched as the eagle owl tried his very best to intimidate the cat by hooting at him, flying in circles around him, and flapping his wings angrily. The cat just kept scratching, and soon Atlas gave up. He landed on a branch and gave Hermione an eerily human long-suffering look.

Hermione was not bothered by all this. They play-fought all the time, but they never hurt one another. She left them to it and settled down at her desk to work. Taking the essay at the top of the pile, she sighed a happy little sigh and started marking. 

A minute or so later, she was scared half to death by the sudden sensation of Crookshanks jumping into her lap. He turned around in a few circles, then curled up. The warmth was comforting and very welcome. 

Not to be ignored, Atlas flew from his stand to her desk. The eagle owl looked up at her shoulder, then up at his perch. His amber eyes were very grave. He looked at her shoulder again.

“Not a chance.” Hermione warned. “Atlas, you’re  _ massive _ . You’re not a baby anymore-” The bird’s eyes turned plaintive, and Hermione sighed. “Oh, fine.”

She conjured up a bit of old carpet, draped it over one shoulder and turned back to her work with an exasperated sigh. Before she’d even picked up her quill again, Atlas landed expertly on her shoulder. Even through the carpet, Hermione could feel his talons digging in. He closed his eyes in blissful serenity. 

“You dear bird.” Hermione murmured, and gave him, then Crookshanks, a little scratch behind their ears. 

A witch could get used to this. 

* * *

This happiness couldn’t last forever. It was ruined by the rather pathetic entrance of Pigwidgeon through her office window. 

Hermione could only shake her head as the frazzled, silly creature did a few wobbly laps of the office before it finally noticed the glaring, hulking mass of Atlas and, spiralling in a panic pronounced enough to dislodge the letter from its leg, fled with all speed out the window.

Hermione stared at the latter for a long time. She already knew who had written it. The address was on the top right-hand corner;  _ The Burrow, Ottery St Catchpole. _

Even without it, she would have known. The handwriting was almost as familiar to her as her own; messy, untidy, letters unevenly spaced. Ronald. 

He could have nothing to say that she wanted to hear. In keeping the whole thing a secret from her, Ron had proven that his maturity hadn’t improved since the breakup. Harry and Ginny had apologised, profusely and genuinely, for their part in things, explaining that Ron had begged them for a chance to tell her himself. She had forgiven them as much as she could. Harry would do anything for family and Ginny, while more independent than her husband, certainly wasn’t immune to that sort of manipulation. Ultimately, Ron was the one who was the most responsible, and yet she knew that the chances of him understanding how hurtful and cruel what he had done had been were slim to none. 

Ignoring the letter seemed like cowardice, but she was very tempted to do just that. She wasn’t a person to avoid something important just because it was difficult, but what good could it possibly do? 

After a few torturous minutes, she decided she would read it after all. She wasn’t afraid of Ron. She wouldn’t give him that much power over her. 

_ Hermione,  _

_ It’s taken me hours to write this.  _

_ I think you’ve read the papers, because Ginny is acting like I don’t exist, Harry keeps on telling me to write to you, and I think you’ve jinxed me. Been falling over all day and my nose keeps bleeding, but I guess I deserve that.  _

_ Don’t be angry at them. I made everyone promise not to say anything until I was ready to tell you myself. Now it’s too late, but I feel like I owe you some sort of explanation anyway.  _

_ I met Emily pretty soon after we broke up. I didn’t want you thinking that I’d done anything wrong, so I asked Ginny and Harry to keep it quiet. After that… I just wanted to have something that was mine, without worrying about whether you approved or not. I didn’t want you thinking I was dating a muggle to pretend I was dating you again, or something. It’s not like that. Emily is… she’s fantastic.  _

_ I’m happy. I don’t feel like I’m always falling short, just because I can’t do all the magic you can do and I haven’t read all the books you have. I don’t know if you’ll understand that, but you don’t need to. What’s important is that I’ve found someone, and if you care about me at all, you’ll be happy for us.  _

_ Either way, I don’t want to see you again and neither does Mum. If you want to see Amelia you can take that up with Ginny, but don’t come to the Burrow in case I’m there.  _

_ Goodbye,  _

_ Ron.  _

Her hands were shaking by the time she was halfway through. Not with nervousness. With rage. How dare he. How  _ dare  _ he. As if she would  _ ever  _ hex him. Why did he have to blame his clumsiness on her, let alone what was obviously just a bit of bad luck? Bringing Molly into it, insulting her, that nasty little dig about seeing  _ her own god-daughter _ \- She clenched her teeth and tried to remind herself to breathe. 

Hermione folded up the letter into painstakingly even sections and put it down gently in the fireplace. She walked away, levelled her wand at it, and hurled the largest fireball that she could at it. 

Smoke immediately swallowed her, and she had to flee the room hacking and coughing; but she felt better. When she came back, Crookshanks was glaring down at her from the top of a bookshelf, tail fluffed up and hackles raised, and Atlas must have flown out the window, since he was nowhere to be seen. A wave of guilt rose up in her for losing her temper when they might get caught in the crossfire.

Later that evening, after she’d had a good long cry about the whole situation, she felt a moment’s regret for destroying the letter. Having something tangible that exemplified how absolutely  _ wrong  _ Ron had been for her might come in handy, one day. But then she realised that that just wasn’t true. She might have regretted her own part in how badly their relationship had gone, but never, for one minute, had she regretted ending it. She knew now that she never would. 

Hermione knew that she would have to have a talk with Harry and Ginny explaining that she and Ron wouldn’t be having anything to do with each other from now on. Not now, while she was still angry. But sometime soon. 

She left the fireplace as it was for a few days. The once beautiful stone was charred black and crumbling. It suited her mood. 

* * *

Hermione was just wrapping up the last of her fifth-year Charms class when she noticed she had a guest. 

Lucius Malfoy stood in the classroom door, dressed in his usual black. 

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him questioningly, but he only smiled and waved at her to continue. She could almost hear his droll remark,  _ don’t let me disturb you, Professor.  _

Well, she couldn’t just keep going with him standing there watching. She dismissed the class a few minutes early, reminding them again of the essay they had due next week. The students gathered up their things, leaving the two of them alone. Lucius got a few curious glances, but that was all. Teachers often had business with one another. 

“Lucius.” Hermione said as the last student left, wiping her blackboard clean with a flick of her wand. “What can I do for you?”

“As a matter of fact, Hermione, I need your help.”

Bringing her concentration back to the matter at hand, she asked, “My help? What could you need my help with?” An idea came to her, and she perked right up. “Do you need something invented?” 

“Not at all, though I will be sure to commission you if I ever do. No, Hermione, this is a school matter.” He saw her interest was piqued, and went on. “You see, my NEWTs class is somewhat more of an…  _ exclusive _ group than what I would like.”

Hermione made a sympathetic noise. That was a real shame. Even when she’d been a student, Potions NEWTs classes had always been a little on the small side. Unlike Charms, which was considered an ‘easy’ subject, people often did Potions because they  _ had  _ to, rather than because they actually enjoyed it. 

Still, she was surprised to hear that Lucius was having so much trouble. He was generally known to be a fair teacher who wanted his students to excel. In Snape's time, the unpopularity of the class was mostly due to his cruel personality and rigorous course requirements, the latter of which was excessive even by Hermione’s standards for a NEWT’s class.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She said carefully, shuffling some papers in an attempt to make her desk somewhat more presentable as he went to stand before the great Charmed window. “A NEWT in potions is a prerequisite for so many careers, I would have thought more students would at least consider it.”

He nodded. “Indeed. And yet, it is not an easy subject to enjoy. It requires patience, and the results are not always outwardly impressive in a way that appeals to younger minds. I have even observed that the types of students who might usually appreciate the more, ah,  _ subtle  _ possibilities of potionmaking are somewhat scarce this year.”

Hermione looked at him sharply, but he was facing away from her and so she couldn’t see his face. This was the closest he had come to admitting that Slytherin’s numbers were depleted. It was a forbidden subject. Even McGonagall had always dodged her questions whenever she had tried to bring it up. 

Lucius continued, “It seems to me that with the appropriate demonstration, the students might consider taking the subject further.” 

“What did you have in mind?” She asked, curiosity evident in her voice. 

Lucius turned with an amused smile. He knew he had her. “I thought perhaps a Salve of Panacea or a Brew of Ascension would do the trick.”

To say that Hermione was shocked would be an understatement. Properly made, the Salve of Panacea had the power to cure any physical malady. It could cure anything from Dragon Pox to lycanthropy. At least, that was what countless accounts asserted. It had last been made three hundred years ago, and its use had been restricted to very few powerful and influential people. Even so, supply had run dry over two centuries ago. Half the ingredients used to make it didn’t even exist anymore, and even the best proxies didn’t seem to work. The rest were illegal. 

And as for the Brew of Ascension… that was even more incredible. Its ingredients were notoriously difficult to procure, their measurements the subject of fevered academic debate. Its creator had made it once, and only once. Legend had it, she had studied under Merlin himself. Once consumed, it gifted the drinker with perfect ability in a skill of their choice. Any skill. It could be consumed more than once, and could bestow more than one gift to the drinker, though the exact limit, if any, was unknown. It had no side effects. 

It even, if the legend was to be believed, tasted quite nice. 

Lucius mistook Hermione’s silence for reluctance. “I would consider it a great favour.”

Hermione shook her head. “I’m just… surprised. Do you really think we could do it?”

Lucius shrugged. “Alone? Certainly not. But together… I think we will acquit ourselves admirably. Salazar himself could never reach the final ten steps. I suppose we will make it to the final thirty or so.”

Hermione had to admit, it was an intriguing suggestion. Like many potions enthusiasts, she’d done a bit of research into the more ‘mythological’ potions, in her time. The Brew of Ascension, in particular, had drawn her. Of course, actually trying to create it had been out of the question. She could count the number of people she knew with the skills necessary to try it on one hand. Severus Snape had been one of them. For obvious reasons, she never broached the topic with him. Another possible candidate had been Professor Slughorn, but she hadn’t felt comfortable asking him to try it with her, and the potion was impossible to do alone.

“Even if we don’t make it that far, it would certainly drum up more interest in potions.” Hermione mused. 

Lucius raised an eyebrow at her cynicism. 

“I am surprised at you. Your gifts as a potioneer are well-known. I’ve read your books, Hermione. I can hardly think of any two potioneers more capable than us.”

Not to mention that potions was an incredibly useful subject, and it was sad to think that students were not being drawn to it. By default, she wanted to help. Not to mention the incredible challenge that it presented, and oh, did Hermione love challenges. And really, if she was to be honest, she was just a  _ tiny _ bit flattered that he would ask her for help. 

And if there was even the slightest chance they could be successful, she owed it to herself to try. It would benefit all of humanity. It would galvanise the students into learning a useful subject that (she was forced to admit) was often passed over in favour of her more flashy class. Generations of witches and wizards had tried and failed to create these magical masterworks. It was a hurdle that was practically impossible to pass. 

Simply put, nothing could possibly be more tempting. 

Not realising she spoke aloud, she wondered, “Which one should we try first?”

At once, Lucius said, “The Ascension, of course. If we can only brew  _ that,  _ we could give ourselves such potioneering mastery that the Panacea would be easy.”

A thrill of excitement coursed through her, and Hermione stuck out her hand. “The Brew of Ascension it is, then.”

Lucius clasped his hand in hers. “When shall we begin?” His grip was firm, his tone confident. 

Hermione was already thinking of how to reorganise her schedule. This week was as busy as any other, but it  _ was _ for the students, after all… “Tomorrow evening? I can be in the library by nine.”

“Then nine o’clock it is.”

* * *

When the clock struck nine the following night, Lucius met Hermione at the librarian’s desk and led her to the restricted section. He answered her many questions with no more than a mysterious smile. Once they were deep in the restricted section, he went up to a bookcase and raised an eyebrow at her, and she knew he was about to do something clever. Sliding his hands between two volumes, he pulled a hidden lever behind the books to reveal a little room. 

Hermione swayed backwards in surprise. She thought she had known all of Hogwarts secrets, but here Lucius was, still surprising her...

“Here. We will not be disturbed.”

Hermione entered and looked around the small space in awe. She knew that she was finally standing in the private teacher’s study room (which Neville had so absently neglected to show her). All four walls were bookcases, much to her delight. Beautiful stained glass lamps illuminated the room with sapphire, violet and ruby tones, their flames heavily protected in their sconces of enchanted glass. 

Against one wall was a bench and table, with a few neat stacks of books and scrolls upon it. There were empty parchments, quills and inkpots… Lucius had come prepared. 

Hermione floated over to the far wall, absently trailing her fingers over a row of book spines as she took in the name of each book, growing more and more excited as she found rarity after rarity. She was ignorant to Lucius’s bright eyes on her, awaiting her reaction.

“Is it everything you thought it would be?”

Hermione spun to face him, her face radiant. 

Lucius smiled indulgently, and she was reminded of why they were there.

“I assume you have all the ingredients?” She questioned as she made herself comfortable on the bench, excitement waning slightly as she came back to herself.

He sat next to her. He didn’t seem overly concerned. “The sphinx fissure will be coming in any day now. Once we have that, the rest will be easy enough.”

Easy enough, indeed. Unicorn’s horn, dragonstem and fairy wings, to name a few. 

“So, we focus on the brewing of the potion itself, then. The original first, then the transcripts?”

“Indeed,” he said. “I imagine you are familiar with the steps?”

By this, he meant the fragments of the recipe they had to work with. Hermione could probably recite those almost word for word, and she said as much.

“Wonderful. Where shall we start?” Lucius’s eyes were filled with barely contained excitement, and she thought it made him look younger, less weighed down by the hardships life had placed upon his shoulders.

Hermione’s eyes fell on the texts that graced the table, her smile growing at the idea of him pouring through the ancient titles, piecing together tidbits of clues that might help them. She held up two of the most promising books.

“We start here.”

* * *

The next few weeks passed very pleasantly for Hermione. She had everything she needed to be happy: a busy work day and a stimulating side project. In Lucius, she even had the elusive bonus of a capable, intelligent partner whose mind was bent to the same task with the same dedication as hers. His suggestions were thoughtful, his ideas sound. He knew when to make pleasant conversation, and he knew when to be silent. These were impressive qualities as well. 

He had put it to her, late one evening, that their mental faculties would benefit from a pot of tea while they worked. She had reminded him that hot liquids were completely off limits in the library. He had smiled convincingly, and informed her that  _ technically,  _ the teacher’s study was not on any map of the library, and therefore couldn’t really be said to follow the same rules. She had protested, he had countered, and before long, taking tea together while they worked had become a tradition. 

“Pages one through fifteen shouldn’t be a problem.” Hermione said confidently in the teacher’s study one evening, sipping on her prohibited tea. It was delicious. 

“I agree. I doubt we will struggle at all until the last third of it.”

She thought he might be right there. 

“What do you think about all the annotations in the corners?” She asked, tracing them with her fingertips. “A few years ago, I read a paper that claimed they’re a cipher of some sort.”

She saw that her cup was running low and made a little noise of distress in the back of her throat without knowing she did it. He filled it up from the teapot with smooth, economical motions. 

“It’s possible, I suppose,” he replied, setting the teapot down gently. “I don’t think we should concern ourselves with them. Too many witches and wizards have wasted their lives trying to find meaning in those scribblings. I have yet to meet an inventor who does not fill the columns of their work with all sorts of nonsense as their minds wander.”

Here he gave her a pointed look, as if daring her to contradict him. Thinking of what some of her notebooks looked like, she could only blush.

* * *

A few of the ingredients they needed for the Brew of Ascension could be sourced from Hogwarts’ own Greenhouses. This shouldn’t have come as a surprise, since Neville worked very hard on procuring as much diverse and interesting plantlife as possible. 

The moment Hermione had asked him if they could use some of his plants, Neville had offered to sort it all out for them. Hermione was loath to add to his workload so she refused, and Lucius had come with her instead. 

For a while they worked in silence. He wore the plainest clothes he had ever seen on him; a black shirt and trousers with a herbologist’s apron and gloves. It suited him. Hermione had come to suspect that just about anything Lucius wore would suit him. Everything he wore, he wore with confidence. 

“I don’t mean to overstep.” He said slowly. “But are you alright?”

“Why do you ask?” Hermione said, putting her garden fork to one side. 

With a wry smile, Lucius said, “A great plume of smoke was seen blowing out of your window last week, Hermione. Knowing your capabilities and the volatile nature of Charms, I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but you have been very quiet, lately.”

To say that she had been quiet wasn’t exactly right. She and Lucius had been talking together almost daily. She knew what he was talking about, though. She hadn’t gone to the Head Club on Friday, and she wasn’t exactly throwing herself into her classes with as much enthusiasm as normal. 

“Ron sent me a letter.” She blurted. 

His hands stilled on the thyme he was harvesting for just a moment, before resuming their sure motions. “I see.” Lucius said, and Hermione prepared herself for an onslaught of questions. She and Ron had been a sort of celebrity couple, in their own right. People always wanted to know what had happened, who had done what and said what, who had ended it, and all those sorts of things. 

All he said, though, was, “It’s not easy to separate from those we are close to. Sometimes, it is the best thing to do, if being with them reminds us of things better left forgotten.”

Hermione frowned. “That wasn’t it.” Ron and Hermione  _ had  _ gone through hell together, but she hadn’t ended things because of their past. 

“Perhaps not.” Lucius said agreeably. “If you would like to talk to someone about it… I am here. Nothing you can say to me will reach him.”

All Hermione could say was, “Thank you.”

* * *

When they felt they were ready, Lucius wrote up the announcement on the school board. The Heads of Gryffindor and Slytherin House were going to make an attempt at the Brew of Ascension at nine o’clock saturday morning. 

The news spread like wildfire. Nothing else was talking about for the rest of the day, nor the rest of the week. Teachers had to crack down on students openly ignoring their classwork in favour of whispering to one another about the attempt. There was going to be a Ministry official there to record the brewing, someone had heard. It was being held in the Potions classroom, and everyone was invited. 

It was going to happen the following week, and it could not come soon enough. None of them had seen an attempt in their lifetime, and students along with teachers were caught up on it. Bets were placed, all firmly out of Hermione’s hearing. People were furiously speculating on how Lucius and Hermione might manage the cryptic recipe and more importantly, how successful their attempt would be. Would they get to the last three pages? Would they crumble under the pressure and fail miserably, as so many great potioneers had before them? 

The staff were hardly immune to this curiosity. It was brought up at the staff table at least once a day after the attempt was announced. 

“Out of interest,” Tiberius asked one morning, not looking up from his coffee cup, “How did you go with the ingredient on page twenty, the one with the tea-stain over it?”

Lucius replied, “We decided on ashroot, seeped in a tincture of ashantic stones”

“Ashroot?” Tiberius chortled, startled out of his usual morning stupour. “Not likely. Not with the cold snap that year. Zafirah liked her herbs fresh, and the winter would have made that impossible. No, far more likely she would have used a local alternative. Dreamroot, perhaps. Or gilded lily, if you place her home to be in Ireland instead of Wales, as some scholars do. And gilded lily added in at just the right dosage ought to turn the mixture that shade of sapphire you all seem to worry about so much.”

This incredible speech so shocked Hermione that she almost dropped her teacup. If ashroot wasn’t what Zafirah would have used… this changed everything. 

The stare she gave Tiberius was blank, but her mind was working, working. In any potion, the interplay of ingredients and how they worked together was crucial. Removing the ashroot would mean redesigning the entire recipe. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. Unusual weather conditions in eight century Europe was a particular favourite of mine when I was a boy.”

“Tiberius,” Lucius asked weakly, pale eyes riveted on his friend’s face, “Do you suppose you could give us a hand with this potion?”

“... Hm? What? Oh heavens no, old boy. I’m far too busy.”

Lucius gave Hermione a beseeching look, and for a moment she was torn between pride and what she knew to be right. This was  _ their  _ attempt. She hated the idea of asking for help from someone else. But then she thought about how incredible it would be if they really  _ could  _ recreate the Brew of Ascension, and how the entire world could be changed in an instant by it. And even if Tiberius did help a little, Hermione would still be known as one of the people who’d made it happen. She wasn’t a perfect person. She would very much like to go down in history as one of the greatest potioneers who had ever lived. 

Clearing her throat, she gently slid her notebook toward the Arithmancy Professor, “Tiberius, could you just quickly-”

Tiberius gave it only the most cursory of glances. “I really am sorry, Professor, but I couldn’t possibly. I have a project of my own. I’m trying to find out how the Mesopotamian numeric system influenced their arithmanctic deductions. They were still changing over from the Sumerian style and sort of hodge-podged them both together in a way we’re still trying to understand. Frankly, the whole thing makes no sense, and yet their witches and wizards got by somehow-”

“That’s lovely, Tiberius, honestly, but see here, what do you think of this page-?”

Though they pleaded and bargained, nothing they could say would convince Flint to turn his incredible intelligence onto the task of the Brew of Ascension. 

“Let him be, Hermione.” Lucius said, with a final noise of disgust. “We’ll get nothing more useful out of him for the rest of the semester. The gilded lily is a good idea, but as for the rest, we can’t second guess ourselves now. We’ll have to trust in our own abilities.” 

“I suppose.” Hermione said, knowing that he was right.

* * *

The day finally came. 

Hermione had wanted to stay up all night with Lucius going over the recipe again, but he’d insisted that they would do better to get a good night’s sleep. She’d woken up that morning feeling rested, determined, and very, very anxious. She forced herself to eat at least a small breakfast. 

An hour or two before they were to begin, Hermione stood in front of the door to the potions classroom for the first time since she had been a student. 

She had been avoiding this room ever since she’d come back to Hogwarts. There were few places in the whole school that held as many painful memories for her. Painful because of how Snape had died in front of her, because of everything she’d suffered here. 

So many people had gone out of their way to make sure she felt welcome at Hogwarts. Her natural gifts had been respected, even admired, by most of the staff and many of the students. Certainly there had been bullies, as there were in every school. But in no classroom had she been outright outstracised, laughed at and demeaned just for being what she was… except this one. 

Hermione squared her shoulders and pushed open the door. 

It was almost unrecognisable. Snape had taken a certain perverse delight in making his students as unhappy to be there as possible. It had been dark and dingy, the corners lost to shadow. He had taken no steps to make the students forget the fact that they were in a dungeon. 

By contrast, Lucius had gone to great lengths to conceal that fact. The flagstones were polished and clean, as were the walls. The tables and chairs were all gone save for the one at the far end, which was to be their workspace for the Brewing. Their absence made the space light and airy. 

One end of the room, near the storage cupboards where students would find cauldrons and the like, was completely given over to raised beds of herbs and flowers. All common potions ingredients, easily recognisable. They basked under bronze sun-lamps or silver moon-disks, as their preference demanded. The smell of green growing things was immediately welcoming and she breathed it in, feeling a little of her anxiety fade away. 

The rest of the changes were more subtle. There were touches here and there that might be called artistic. A set of crystal weighing scales that could  _ not  _ be meant for any practical use. An antique atomiser stood behind a glass case. There was a glass cabinet filled with rows and rows of vials that covered one wall from floor to ceiling. She could only guess at their ingredients. The powders, liquids and scales shined softly in half a dozen colours. Silver and lilac, turquoise and gold. Whatever they were, they were beautiful. 

Along one wall were portraits, some mere likenesses and others inhabited, of all the potioneering greats. Salazar Slytherin, of course, and Merlin. Zafirah Jaziri, whose Brew they would be trying to recreate today. Her lips curved in that infamous, mysterious half-smile. She held her rod under the crook of one arm. Arabella Millywicke and Rabastan the Good also graced the walls of the classroom. Rabastan gave her a broad smile, and Arabella waved gleefully. 

The difference was incredible. It looked very much like a place that a student could conceivably learn something, and possibly even enjoy themselves in the process. 

Organising all their equipment and ingredients on their table, Lucius took in her wandering eye with amusement and no small amount of pleasure. 

“Neville and I set up the student garden.” He said, noticing how it had particularly interested her. “Some ingredients are best picked fresh, I have found.”

She was not really listening. Instead she could only think of how Neville must have felt, being asked to transform a place of such personal misery into a place of higher learning. 

“You must care a lot about your students,” she said. 

He did not seem to understand, and only replied, “The potions club maintains it as part of their duties. It is no work for me at all.” Then he smirked. “You seem surprised, Hermione. Did you really think I would choose to spend my days in such a dark, dingy place?”

He seemed eager for conversation, but the clock was ticking. Perhaps she should make time to come by the Potions classroom later. She would very much like to take a look around. The decor looked nothing like what she had seen of the Manor. She had no idea whether that made it a more significant representation of Lucius’ character, or less. 

Now that she was actually here, she didn’t feel as nervous about it as she thought she would. They had not been able to practice the actual brewing together due to most of the ingredients being too rare to risk wasting. Still, they had discussed every part of the process in minute detail. The way they worked seemed quite similar. On the few things they had disagreed on, discussion was normally enough to make them see eye to eye. 

And they  _ had _ disagreed on some things. The incomplete state of the recipe made it impossible  _ not  _ to. There were entire steps, entire  _ pages _ missing and they both had different ideas on what they might be. Her way of thinking was more inclined to genius, to flashes of insight and inspiration based on her past experience. His was more methodical, less experimental. When in doubt, he usually gave way to her force of will. He complained, of course, but there was no bitterness in it. 

“How much time do we have left?” Hermione wondered aloud and answered herself moments later. “Fifteen minutes. Plenty of time to go over a few things.”

She generously ignored the studied martyred look he allowed to come over his face. Instead, she took the opportunity to impress upon him the importance of stirring the mixture correctly. In total, it had to be stirred five hundred times. Three hundred and forty seven times clockwise, one hundred and fifty three times counter-clockwise. It was the step that tripped up most of the people who tried to make the Brew. 

For this exact reason, Hermione would rather have done it herself. Unfortunately, Lucius’ superior physical stamina meant that he was best suited for the job. Just as she was about to remind him, once again, on the importance of maintaining a proper speed, the Ministry official came in with a photographer, not one of those Prophet vultures but a proper one, and Hermione tensed up. Lucius moved imperceptibly closer towards her, and she calmed down with a rueful shake of her head.  _ Get it together. Half the Ministry think you’re some sort of hero, anyway.  _

Then the students started filing in, and Hermione realised that it might have been better for them to do this in the Great Hall. Being a central room in the dungeon, the potions classroom was deceptively massive, but even so… Before long, a veritable horde of eager students packed into the room, whispering amongst themselves. 

Above them all towered Hagrid. The groundskeeper had overcome his hatred of Lucius to come and support her. He even wore his hairy waistcoat for the occasion. He gave her a confident thumbs-up. His presence immediately made Hermione feel better.

Beside her, Lucius Malfoy was ready. She went to join him behind the table. He stood with his sleeves rolled up and, like her, had his hair tied up and out of the way. Their clothes were covered with protective aprons, in case of splashing. The room was as lit as it could possibly be, and the photographer stood in the corner with the ministry official. They spoke amongst themselves as they waited for the potion making to begin.

As for the students, they all patiently waited with baited breath. The anticipation that filled the room was a tangible thing. Hermione wondered if this energized, focused feeling was what it felt like to step onto the Quidditch field as a player. This was her dominion, and her time to prove herself.

The ingredients were all sorted into neat, well defined groups. Everything she would need, from knives to a mortar and pestle, was all perfectly ready. Lucius had set everything up so that the things she would need to use the most often were within closest reach. 

Lucius and Hermione shared a look. He raised an eyebrow in a question;  _ ready?  _ She nodded. 

The official called the time; exactly nine o’clock in the morning, and started his watch. 

They’d begun.

Lucius poured the base of the potion into the cauldron. It was simple: two parts moondew and one part honeywater. This, at least, was clearly laid out in the instructions. 

With the basics done, Lucius began stirring. Not wanting to disturb him, she started counting the steps as he worked. 

One. 

She diced the sphinx fissure, the most important ingredient, with steady hands. Some pieces she reduced almost to crumbs, some she left as large as her fist. It had to be doled out into the cauldron in  _ very  _ particular amounts. 

Thirty. 

The powdered green calcite and scarab shell went in next. The mixture was starting to steam. A quick bit of magic from Lucius brought the temperature down for a minute or so before bringing it up to a boil. Her hands ducked in between his to toss in a few pinches of thyme. A flash went off in her periphery, but she barely noticed it, too caught up in the process to care about her surroundings.

One hundred. He was not tiring. She hadn’t had to correct him on his speed even once. It was incredible, actually. Was this the first time she had ever brewed up a potion with a partner  _ without  _ having to constantly check every single thing they did, just to see if they’d make a mistake? What a difference it made. It was like a whole part of her intellect that she’d had to dedicate to carrying other people was suddenly free to serve her instead. She felt sharp, alert. 

A hundred and seventy. She reduced the dragonstem to dust and combined it with squid-ink. At this addition, the mixture turned scarlet red. She heard the ministry official, and Lucius, huff with approval. 

Two hundred and sixty. She sprinkled in the powdered flying seahorse and fairy wings and started slicing up her asphodel petals as the potion turned a lovely turquoise color. 

Right on time, Lucius reversed his turns. The mixture began darkening by the minute. It took a lot of self control for Hermione to not lose focus as this tangible  _ proof  _ that they were making progress. 

She reached for a bit of parchment, a quill, and an inkpot. She used the ink to write down a three-part Elucidation Incantation. Throwing the parchment into the cauldron, she prayed that their calculations were correct. When the parchment hit the mixture it turned to  _ flame,  _ and Lucius had to lean sharply back to avoid being burned, but he didn’t falter. 

It was almost done. The gilded lily she threw in uncut and untampered with. This had been a subject of great debate between her and Lucius, but he’d managed to convince her. She added crushed unicorn horn and dittany to make the potion safe for human consumption. 

Five hundred. Lucius came to a stop, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead from the heat. 

It was done. Hermione felt no less anxious. Now for the real test; did it work? 

The students were silent as the official walked over. He took out a little spoon from his pocket and dipped it into the sapphire mixture. Hermione held her breath. 

“I have always wanted,” The official declared. “to be able to stand on my head.” 

They all watched as the official gave it a try and, less than a second later, fell over in a mess of robes and limbs. 

Hermione felt all the hope drain right out of her. She had thought they might, just might, have gotten it right. 

“A failure.” The official announced. “But quite a marvelous one. One of the best attempts I’ve ever seen! Certainly one for the record books, eh?”

But Hermione hadn’t wanted to be the best in years. She’d simply wanted to be the best. 

The children didn’t share her disappointment. At Lucius’ invitation, they swarmed the table and peered excitedly at their ingredients. Lucius started answering questions, and Hermione flicked through their notes again. Had they gone wrong, somewhere? 

“Out of interest,” The official was asking, “What did you use for step six, page two? I didn’t quite catch it.”

“Scarab shell.” Lucius replied. “It was good for the colour, and it’s known to heighten the Sphinx fissure’s augmenting properties.”

The official seemed skeptical. “How did you counter the acidity?”

“Thyme.“ Hermione said absently. “You can sort of make out a ‘t’ and a ‘y’ under the inkblots, once you’ve looked at Zafirah’s handwriting for long enough.”

“Marvellous.” The official said again, and jotted that down.

She couldn’t think of anything they could have gone differently. Their research had been meticulous, their technique flawless. They’d done the best they could with what they had. She was convinced that they had come closer than most. Certainly, they had done fantastically well for a first try. 

Funnily enough, though there had been several dozen people watching them, when the time came to clear up all the mess of potion-making, everyone mysteriously vanished, leaving her and Lucius alone. 

Hermione didn’t mind. She needed the time to think. 

She dipped a spoon into the cauldron and had a small taste. It was vaguely sweet. “Not bad.” She said, and offered some to Lucius. 

He took a small sip and said, “Considering the ingredients, it tastes about as good as we could hope for.”

“I still think we should have added some blueberries.” Hermione grumbled, unable to help herself. “It would have helped the taste.”

“Hermione, that would have been cheating.” Lucius said. “Which I suppose, shouldn’t surprise me, coming from you.”

“Lucius.” Hermione said very firmly, fighting to keep a straight face. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Their banter helped to ease the fog of disappointment hanging over her. Vanishing their attempt at the Brew stung a little, but after that, the monotony of simple cleaning spells was strangely relaxing. Lucius fell into an easy silence as he worked. Whether because he needed time to gather himself as well, or out of respect for her, she didn’t know. 

Once they had finished, Hermione flopped down at an empty desk. She felt that particular kind of tiredness unique to mental exertion. It wasn’t a bad thing, exactly. She’d come to associate the feeling with a productive day well spent. But she was in desperate need of a rest. 

Lucius understood and said, “I, for one, am parched. Would you like a cup of tea?”

The second he offered, Hermione realised that her throat was like a desert. While they’d been making the potion, she hadn’t even noticed. But now… “Oh, Merlin. Yes please.” 

As he started making up a pot (on the same burner they’d used to make their Brew, which Hermione thought was rather funny), she let out a contented sigh and summoned them up a couple of cups. Porcelain, to suit his sensibilities. Twice as large as a porcelain cup had any right to be, to suit her needs. 

He began idle conversation as they waited for the tea to boil. They hadn’t managed to successfully create the potion, but they’d most certainly achieved what they set out to do. They had inspired the students and they’d got closer to creating the legendary potion than any had in decades; the colour had been right, after all, and hadn’t tasted bad at all. It may not have been the result she’d hoped for, but it was something to be proud of nevertheless. 

Hermione had no regrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's all coming together...
> 
> This chapter was meant to be like 3k but turned out to be 7.5. Massive. I can neither garden nor cook, so please forgive any sloppy writing or mistakes in those sections. 
> 
> Remember how I said the Halloween Ball is my favourite chapter so far? Well, the next few chapters are probably my favourite *overall* section of the story. It was actually meant to be one huge chapter but instead we've split it into three; chapter 10, 11 and 12. Normal rules apply in that I will attempt to post more regularly for split chapters so you guys don't have to wait as long. Then it'll be back to once weekly updates for chapter 13 ect.
> 
> Please let me know your thoughts as I always cherish every review. You guys are the best. 
> 
> I'll see you next week!


	10. Trips to Hogsmeade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> As always, thank you to everyone still reading, an extra special thank you to everyone who reviews, and THANK YOU to my lovely editor who makes this fic fit for human consumption. 
> 
> This is the part of the story I have been wanting to share with you guys for such a long time. I really hope you like it! 
> 
> I just wanna remind everyone again that this *is* a three part chapter, which means updates will be coming more regularly until all three parts are out. 
> 
> Read on, and enjoy!

The flurry of potion-making was over, and Hermione found herself more at peace, more relaxed, than she had been for some time. 

Hard, satisfying work had that effect on her. When Lucius had suggested the potion, he’d unknowingly given her something to take her mind off of the cruelty of Ron’s letter long enough to process it and figure out what she needed to do about it. 

The fact that she’d destroyed the letter in a fit of rage made it hard to be sure, but Hermione prided herself on her memory. And honestly, something like that was very difficult to forget. Ron had pretty strongly implied that he was going to try to get in the way of her seeing Amelia. At the very least, he was specifically exerting his control to stop her from seeing her as freely as she would like. 

Hermione could let a lot of things slide, these days. She was only a few years away from thirty, after all. She had a career, she had a reputation, and she had responsibilities. But there were some things that were just unforgivable, and trying to sabotage her relationship with her god-child was one of them. 

Hermione had been in the delivery room with Ginny and Harry while Ron had been throwing up in the hallway. She had been there for Amelia’s first accidental magic, had helped her learn to put her shoes on. She wasn’t about to be cut out of her own god-daughter’s life by her ex-boyfriend, of all people. 

She had to act on this now. Unfortunately, she also had aspirations that meant that she couldn’t just do whatever she liked, which meant she couldn’t just do what Ron had accused her of doing, and hex him, though it probably would have been the most satisfying course of action. 

After a great deal of thought, Hermione decided that the best solution might just be the simplest one. She’d have an open, honest conversation with Ginny about Ron and Molly’s decision to ban her from the Burrow. Maybe Ginny could talk some sense into the pair of them. At the very least, she couldn’t have Ginny thinking that this was happening by her own choice. 

Hermione Floo’d her, just in case. There was one rule that applied in both the wizarding world and the muggle world; never drop in on the parents of very young children uninvited. It was just plain rude. 

Still, head-only Floo’ing was probably her least favourite of all the wizarding ways of talking at a distance. She’d acclimatised to the wizarding world quite well, but thrusting her head into a burning fireplace was never pleasant. 

Luckily, today was cold enough that they had a fire going even though it was early in the afternoon. It was November, after all. This meant that when Hermione stuck her head through the fireplace, she didn’t see the blackness of a stilled fire, but a strangely flickering version of Ginny and Harry’s front room. 

Ginny and Harry had made their home in Godric’s Hollow, in the rebuilt wreckage of the original Potter residence. The three bedroom cottage provided ample space for the young family, particularly since neither of them had been used to having much growing up. It was cosy and very normal looking, with only a few signs that it was home to a wizarding family. The Quidditch posters on the wall were a dead giveaway, as was the small family of Pygmy Puffs squeaking and rolling around on the carpet. 

The room looked like a bomb had hit it, but that was nothing unusual. 

Little Amelia, looking very sweet in a pair of dungarees and a bright yellow t-shirt, just so happened to be in the living room, industrially smacking a train set into a table leg. Her god-daughter saw her and yelled ‘Her-my-me’ at the top of her lungs. Hermione started pulling silly faces, and the toddler was squealing with laughter by the time Ginny came into the living room.

Ginny sat down cross legged in front of the fire and pulled her daughter into her lap. The redhead looked happy to see her. “Hermione. It’s good you’ve called, I’ve been hearing some really weird rumours and I wanted to hear it from you-”

Rumours? Hermione couldn’t let them get sidetracked, but she made a mental note to ask about them later. 

“Look, Ginny, I’ve got something important to tell you. Is Harry home?”

Ginny looked curious and set Amelia in the direction of the Pygmy Puffs, where the toddler happily threw herself down and started stacking them into a great pink, lavender and purple pyramid. They didn’t seem to mind. 

“No, he’s at work.” Ginny replied. “The Aurors are being run ragged with… you know. Is everything okay?”

“Not really, Ginny. It’s… well, it’s a bit awkward.”

Ginny’s entire demeanour changed. From open and cheeky to flat and guarded.

“What’s he done?”

Her tone made it very clear _exactly_ who she was talking about. There was really only one person they both knew that had the ability to make Hermione Granger feel uncomfortable. 

Hermione braced herself. There was a chance that Ginny would take her brother’s side, so she had to make it clear that she wasn’t asking Ginny to pick sides. “Well, Ron and I won’t be speaking to one another from now on, which I think is only for the best, obviously- but then he said something about Amelia that sort of bothered me.”

“What do you mean?” Ginny was frowning now. Hard. 

Hermione went for it. “Basically, I wanted to tell you that if you’re at the Burrow with Amelia, and you invite me over to see the both of you, I won’t be able to come over because Ron and Molly say I’m not welcome there.” 

“Is that right?” Ginny said. 

Hermione nodded.

For a moment, Hermione very nearly felt sorry for Ron. She had known Ginny for a long time, and so she could see every single one of the signs that Mount Ginny was about to explode. 

“Right. Well. If he wasn’t my own brother, I would _strangle him._ Don’t worry about it, Hermione. I won’t let them shove you out. You’ll get plenty of time to see Amelia. It doesn’t have to be at the Burrow. Place is falling apart anyway.”

Warmth filled her. Ginny understood. “Thanks, Ginny.”

“Now, while we’re talking about it, why don’t you come over later this week? We’ve got some catching up to do and Amelia has some lovely new artwork to show you. She’s getting really good at drawing your hair. Maybe if we can sort out a time when Harry’ll be home, we can all have dinner?”

The feeling of so much worry and stress being lifted from her shoulders was just indescribable. She had to blink tears out of her eyes. 

“Thanks, Ginny. That sounds wonderful.”

* * *

Getting that entire situation sorted out was a massive relief. After everything that had happened during her school years, Hermione sometimes had a tendency to assume the worst. A part of her had been really, really afraid that Ginny wouldn’t see the severity of what Ron had done. She needn’t have worried, apparently. 

Sometimes, it was good to be wrong. 

They’d set a tentative date for dinner; next Wednesday after class. Harry was due to finish work at the Ministry by four on Wednesdays, which meant that hopefully he would _actually_ be done in time to come home for dinner. 

Dinner with Harry, Ginny and Amelia… it had been a long time. Too long. 

This being organised, she decided to tackle the next issue that she’d been dwelling on. Viktor Krum. 

The way he had looked at her in the Great Hall that morning had made it very clear that despite the hardships of neglect and time, his feelings for her hadn’t changed. Unfortunately, she no longer felt the same way. 

Viktor was a good person, and she hadn’t been avoiding him exactly, but it certainly might look that way to an outsider. First, that letter from Ron had put her in such a bad mood that she’d become basically unapproachable to most of her friends, and after that she’d gotten so wrapped up in the Brew of Ascension that she hadn’t made any time to actually talk to him. 

She _did_ need to talk to Viktor. She’d wronged him by ignoring his letters, and for that he deserved an apology. But if he had in any way taken up Lucius’ offer of the Slytherin Coach position in the hopes of seducing her, he would be very disappointed.

The sooner she dealt with this, the better. Later that same evening, she made up her mind to seek him out and explain everything. 

Finding any one person in such a large castle could be very difficult. She knew that he was always here on Tuesday nights for Slytherin Quidditch practice, but practice had ended half an hour ago. She checked it to be sure, but the pitch was vacant. 

She wasn’t disappointed for long. Apparently, if someone ever wanted to track down Viktor Krum, all they ever had to do was find the nearest gaggle of young people and ask them where he would normally be this time of day. 

The Gryffindor boys Hermione found were very forthcoming, if not very enthusiastic. 

“He’d be down at the lake.” Mr Blair said, sounding distinctly grumpy. 

His friend scoffed and said, “Yeah, it’s around about that time.” 

_What’s gotten into them?_ Hermione frowned at their attitudes, and the boys all reddened and found reasons to be elsewhere. 

Hermione made her way to the lake, admiring the beauty of the evening as she did. It was bitterly cold, but the evening sky was a beautiful dusky blue. 

She was there before long, but she still saw no sign of Viktor. Hermione sighed. This was turning out to be a real waste of time. Perhaps she’d have to wait for him to finish practice next time? 

The lakeside was far from empty. Little knots of students, mostly girls, were sitting around with parchments and quills all around them. Perhaps they might have seen him?

As she approached the nearest group of students, Viktor Krum came striding out of the water. He… he wasn’t wearing very much. 

_Good God._

Clearly, Viktor worked out. And _often._ She had never personally seen a man so muscular in person. A phrase she had heard once, “his shoulders had shoulders,” certainly applied here. His biceps were probably the size of her head, or close, at least. His abs were cut as though from marble, and she suddenly understood all of the hype surrounding the young Quidditch player.

Instead of swimming trunks, he wore strange short-trousers that went down to his mid calf. They appeared to be made from dragon hide, and had a long bulky pocket on the outside of one leg from which the bird-like handle of his wand emerged. 

All around her, Hermione could hear the sound of several dozen young people sighing blissfully and fluttering about under Invisibility Charms of varying degrees of finesse. Now that she was looking for it, it was clear that others, the ones who weren’t invisible, hadn’t touched their work in quite some time. 

Hermione was outraged. Regardless of his reasons, Viktor coming here to Hogwarts was a huge privilege. Having the opportunity to learn under him was something that thousands of young Quidditch enthusiasts all over the world would kill for. Such flagrant disrespect was just totally unacceptable. 

Quietly enough that Krum couldn’t hear her, she said, “Alright. Every single one of you, back to your dorms _right now._ This is a disgusting and shameful way for Hogwarts students to behave.” Hermione took a sharp breath to calm herself. “Get back to your dorms, and count yourself lucky I don’t Deshroud you! As for the rest of you, go do your homework somewhere you will actually _do it._ ”

Many disappointed mutterings filled the air, but she could hear (and for some of the weaker charm casters, see) the admirers leaving. The rest of the students flounced off under the full weight of Hermione’s glare. 

As the students began dispersing, Viktor saw her and greeted her with that strange head-bow of his. 

“Hermione.” 

“Viktor.”

His accent was just strong enough to get her attention, but mild enough that she could easily understand what he was saying. He must have worked very hard on his english since they’d last met. 

He gestured toward the departing students. “It is the same in Durmstrang.” The Quidditch player said.

 _That does not surprise me._ “Really?” 

“Yes. Everywhere I go, the students are always studying. Not quite so much as these Hogwarts students, I think. You have been a good influence on them.”

Oh dear. Poor, sweet Viktor. He honestly had no idea. 

Viktor suddenly looked down at himself and _blushed_. Pulling his wand out, he conjured himself a dark set of robes and threw them on, loosely tying them at his waist. Hermione averted her eyes as he did. 

Somewhat dressed, he set off for the school, and Hermione matched her pace to his. 

Her carefully prepared speech was totally forgotten. Instead, she asked, “What were you doing down there? Hasn’t anyone told you that Hogwarts has baths? The lake must be _freezing._ ”

Viktor huffed. “It is not so cold. I was visiting a friend. Well, a friend of a friend.” 

“In the lake? Who do you mean?”

“The Merpeople of Bulgaria asked me to deliver a message to the Lord and Lady of the Black Lake.”

“Oh.” _How fascinating._ “I hope it went well?”

“Well enough. It is good that Merfolk speak the same tongue. They recognised me, from last time.”

“You did sort of make an impression, Viktor.” And he must have. He had been partially transfigured into a shark at the time, after all.

The memory made her uncomfortable. Out of all the things around him, Dumbledore had decided that _she_ would make the best ‘prize’ for Viktor to rescue from the lake. What a mess. The knowledge made her feel even guiltier. 

They were heading back to the castle, where he would surely be Floo’ing home. Hermione half expected him to offer to carry her satchel for her, but she figured the fact that he was still soaking wet despite the robes made that challenging. Instead of offering, he nodded at it.

“I’ve read your book. _A Witch’s Guide to Self-Defence._ ”

Hermione drew back, startled. “You did? Why?”

“They teach it at Durmstrang. My god-father recommended it to me.” 

Hermione prompted, “Your god-father?” 

“Mickhail Ungur. Professor of Charms.” Viktor paused. “He said it wasn’t bad for a Hogwarts witch.” 

That was one way of putting it. She’d published it about a year after the war. That had been a challenging time in her life. The book had been one of her first full works as an author. It contained the most brutal and dangerous spells she had ever published. Some of them had been simply been modified or collated spells from other witches and wizards. Many of them had been of her own creation. It had been, without a doubt, one of the most popular works she had ever written.

Hermione had regretted publishing it pretty much straight away and had tried to get it withdrawn from book shops. By the time the lawyers had gotten round to sorting out all the formalities, thousands of copies had already gone into circulation worldwide. The lawyers hadn’t been able to get back all the copies people had already bought, but at least it wasn’t still on the shelves.

Delicately, she said, “I’m surprised he uses my book to teach, especially considering the type of spells in it.” There was a copy at Hogwarts. Just one. It was in the Restricted Section, where it belonged. 

Viktor gave her a quick, small grin. “Durmstrang is very different than Hogwarts. The Knee-Popping Hex is my favourite.”

Her writers instinct to glow with pride every time someone complimented her creations conflicted with her very real concerns over what people might be doing with the spells she had invented when she was hurting, bitter, and afraid. The resulting maelstrom of emotions wasn’t pleasant. 

But this wasn’t what she’d come here to talk about.

“Viktor, I owe you an apology.” 

“For what?” His brow was deeply furrowed, but that wasn’t unusual. He had once called her the prettiest girl in the whole school while wearing a scowl much like it. 

She took a deep breath. “I never replied to your letters, and I really should have. I was thinking about… well, I was about to get into a relationship with Ron. Sorry.”

Strangely, Viktor looked pleased. “So, it wasn’t because I had made you angry?”

Her, angry at Viktor? The idea was so strange that it took Hermione a moment to reply. “No? How could you have?”

“My English wasn’t good. I thought perhaps I had said something to upset you by mistake.”

“Oh, Merlin no! I promise, I wasn’t upset.” Now for the hard part. “I also want to apologize if I’ve led you on. I really like you, but I don’t feel that way about you. I’m sorry.”

Viktor’s brow furrowed further. “It is fine, Hermione. You owe me nothing. Our friendship is enough for me. Unless you change your mind, of course. I want to apologise as well.” 

This was an evening of surprises. “What on earth do you have to be sorry about?”

“I wanted to come and speak to you as soon as I came here. But you were busy, and I was too…” His face twisted as he tried to think of the word. “Intimidated.” 

“Intimidated? By me?” _Viktor, you could tear apart a tree trunk with your bare hands._ “Is it because of the Knee-Popping Hex?” She asked, not entirely joking. 

Viktor’s scowl eased, just for a moment. “No. You are world famous. Brightest witch of the age, everyone says. It is true.”

“Well, thank you.” She said, lamely. 

He stopped and faced her. He ducked his head so he could meet her eyes a little easier. The effect was… earnest. Sincere. “I know you are busy, always inventing things and teaching. But I would like it if we could be friends.”

“I would like that too, Viktor.”

Impulsively, she thrust out her hand. He grinned and shook it firmly. 

* * *

When McGonagall requested her presence in her office late the next morning, a long stream of possibilities went through Hermione’s head. Had one of the students been injured? Had she given a bad class? Had something happened to one of their mutual friends? 

All this worry turned out to be at least partially justified when Minerva sat her down and told her what she was planning. The Headmistress wanted to resume the excursions to Hogsmeade for fourth years and older again. 

Hermione immediately saw the danger. Kingsley, who’d become the Minister of Magic, had announced his decision to expel the dementors from Azkaban just before the school year had started. Deprived of their principle feeding ground, they had begun popping up in all sorts of places, even seeping into the muggle world. 

Hermione looked up to Minerva and didn’t want to go against her, but she couldn’t stay silent. 

“Isn’t it too dangerous?” Hermione asked. 

McGonagall said firmly, “I will not have the children locked up in this castle all year round, Professor Granger. Every precaution has been taken. You helped Flitwick and I weave the defences around Hogsmeade. Can you think of anything else you could do to improve the shields?”

Hermione thought long and hard. The charmswork they’d cast around the whole Hogwarts grounds had been the best that she could come up with. The design had been based on the wards the Founders had placed around Hogwarts, albeit rather less intricate and only fit to repel dementors, rather than all dark creatures. It had taken the three of them almost a full week to put in place. There was so much about the old magics that they just didn’t understand. 

Finally, she said, “I don’t think so.”

“Then it is settled. We’ll take smaller groups of students with two teachers to stand watch. It might be prudent if at least one of the teachers could summon a full patronus.”

McGonagall gave her a significant look, and Hermione knew that she would be supervising a lot of these trips to Hogsmeade. 

* * *

Hermione had been a student not that long ago. She knew that the trips were a highlight and a necessary reprieve from the school environment, but as a teacher she could see just how many opportunities there were for things to go horribly wrong.

Hermione was nothing if not prepared, so she took the initiative and drew up a long, detailed list of every possible danger or accident that they might potentially come up against. The final version covered everything from dementors to natural disasters. She gave a copy out to each staff member and made it pretty clear that since McGonagall had basically put her in charge of the Hogsmeade trips, everyone would do well to study up on the dangers and her strongly recommended courses of action in each scenario. 

All of the teachers were more or less on board with the entire thing. They talked about it at the staff table, or failing that, owled her clarifying questions. All, of course, except for Lucius. He refused to keep her up to date on his progress, taking an impish delight in dodging her questions. She would go down to the potions classroom, but somehow she seemed to just miss him. When Hermione dropped by the Quidditch pitch, knowing how he enjoyed watching the Slytherin team practice, Viktor would inform her that Lucius had decided to retire early, for some reason. 

If she didn’t know better, she would have thought Lucius was playing with her. 

During one of the Head Club meetings, Hermione finally managed to corner Lucius by tearing him away from a rambling argument he and Tiberius were in the midst of. Wisely, Tiberius didn’t say a word. She bullied Lucius into the chair and table in the corner, pulled herself up a seat, and began quizzing him on scenarios and their appropriate responses, much to his amusement. 

Hermione kept the book in between them. Flicking to a particularly easy page, she asked imperiously, “What about if one of the children has an allergic reaction to something? A bee sting, for example?”

Lucius gave an exasperated groan. “Really, what is the point of all this? If a child is injured, we will simply take them to Madame Pomfrey.” 

“And by the time we get there, the student might have asphyxiated. Lucius, did you even read the material I gave you?”

“If I read every page of that manual of yours, I would have no time to teach.”

It was at times like these that Hermione had to remind herself that if she jinxed Lucius Malfoy, McGonagall would be very disappointed in her. 

“Oh, fine.” He relented. “There are several spells that would serve quite well. _Respirare_ , or _relevare,_ I suppose. Given that I am a potioneer, I would probably use an anti-swelling ointment as well, such as-”

Hermione broke in, “Lucius, did you pretend not to know the answer just to annoy me?”

His lip quirked. “It is the season of giving, is it not? I would never deprive you of an opportunity to lecture me, _Professor_ Granger; especially this close to Christmas.”

On the other hand, Hermione thought to herself as she looked at his smug face, his glinting eyes, what the Headmistress did not know, would not hurt her.

Lucius gave her an innocent look. “Now, now, Professor Granger. We must not get sidetracked, not when we have so much of this magnificent manual of yours to read through.” Thoughtlessly, he licked a finger and turned a page. “Now, where were we? I believe the next section is; what should we do if we are engaged in a duel with a dark wizard while trapped in a burning building? That one, I think, is my favourite.”

Tearing her eyes away from his finger, Hermione said defensively, “It’s been known to happen, and there’s nothing wrong with being prepared.”

“Certainly not. It would require, of course, any dark wizards to be left in the world, which I think we can safely say there are none. Besides, rumour has it that you will be going to almost every one of these little trips.”

He was baiting her. It was working. “Probably, but what difference would that make?”

“Why, Professor Granger, I would have thought the answer would be obvious. You are the greatest witch of the age. I am a mere potioneer. If I am trapped in a burning building with a dark wizard and you are there, I would simply leave him in your capable hands. I would hate to get in your way.”

* * *

The first few trips to the wizarding village passed without incident. 

This wasn’t to say they were without stress. The first trip was shared between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, and Sinistra, being capable of casting a non-corporeal patronus, was sent instead of Tiberius. She and Hermione spent the entire afternoon with their hands on their wands, jumping at every noise and snapping at the students, and no-one really enjoyed themselves. 

After a few trips, though, things started to get a little easier. Hermione, as she and Lucius had suspected, did indeed go on many of them. She resented the time it took away from her marking and academic work, but she understood the necessity.

The small adventures were a return to normalcy, and the mood amongst the student body was overwhelmingly positive. The older children were ecstatic, the younger ones were bitterly jealous. It was just as Hermione remembered it from her own days as a student. 

The Hogsmeade visits were an opportunity for the teachers to relax too, once they got over their anxiety of being out in the open. The cottages were as neat and orderly as she remembered, and the novelty of it all only enhanced the natural charms of the little village. Hermione had never known just how much she needed time out of the castle until she saw Hogsmeade’s streets. She loved Hogwarts with all her heart, but a change of scenery was definitely in order. 

She had allocated a significant portion of their trips to the book shop, reasoning that the students would surely appreciate the opportunity to revitalise their own collections. Perhaps pick out a novel to amuse themselves with when they’d caught up on their studies. It wasn’t the real reason, though it was a part of it. A new potions almanac had come out, and she wanted to see what Lucius thought of it. 

The children were chattering behind her, clustering into friendship groups and bickering about where they would go first. Hermione smiled as she and Lucius, who was the other teacher on duty, led them to the High Street. 

“Now, does everyone see High-Street Fashion over there?” She pointed, and the children said ‘Yes, Professor’. “Good, now what about the Owl Post-Office over there?” The children confirmed it again. “Wonderful. No-one is to go further than that, and _no-one_ is to even _think_ about going to the Hog’s Head. I’ve had a word with Aberforth. You won’t be served, but you _will_ get detention.”

Someone made a disparaging comment about these restrictions. Lucius sharply told them to be quiet and do as they were told, and the complaints cut off. 

The children dispersed, and Hermione and Lucius started their watch with only a few amused looks at one another at the children’s antics. 

The townspeople were happy to see them as well. She found George Weasley out in the street, hawking his wares (with great success) to the children. He was wearing one of his dragonhide suits. This one was a bilious yellow. It contrasted awfully, yet humorously, with the ginger shock of his hair. She approached him somewhat nervously, fearing what his stance on the Ron situation might be, but George didn’t say a word about it. 

Instead, George beckoned her inside the shop and they spent a happy half hour catching up while he emptied his shelves and she kept an eye on the students. She confiscated any contraband she saw them buying in a flash. George was kind enough to give the children a refund on the confiscated items, urging them to be more subtle next time. He didn’t seem at all bothered by the fact that Hermione was interfering with his business, and Hermione knew that there was no bad blood between them. 

Once they had their fill of conversation, Hermione found herself in a cheery mood, pleased that the breakdown of all communication between her and Ron hadn’t poisoned her relationship with _all_ of the Weasleys.

Just as Hermione was about to call all the children back, a strange creaking sound reached her ears. A terrible trepidation came over her. Slowly, she turned to see that the fountain of the village square was freezing over. 

Alone, looking very small, was Vicky Parkinson. 

Hanging above the little girl were two dementors. Their shroud-like cloaks hung beneath them. The shadowed cowls were turned towards her with a terrible hunger. 

Everyone screamed, except Vicky. She was frozen stock still. The dementors rippled towards the little girl and Hermione ran out of the shop, fumbling for her wand. 

Across the way, Lucius barked to her, “Stay with the students!”

He advanced as students ran past him to huddle behind Hermione. With deliberation, he drew his wand, black and straight as an arrow, and levelled it at the dementors. 

With conviction, he said, “Expecto patronum!” 

Hermione watched his patronus burst into the air around them. A great silver peacock, the train of its tail feathers shining. Spreading its wings, it screamed and dove for the nearest dementor, banishing it in a blaze of radiance. 

The other dementor came for him, but Lucius fended it off with gritty determination. _He can handle this_ , Hermione thought, though her wand was finally ready and she watched him like a hawk. So she saw the first dementor he had repelled return. Slinking low to the ground, it came toward Lucius from the side with inhuman, fluid speed. 

The sight was so sickening that for a moment, Hermione froze. 

He hadn’t seen it. She cried, “Lucius, over there-”

The dementor reared up at him and Lucius faltered, stumbling backwards over the hem of his cloak. He went down, and his patronus winked out of existence. He hit the pavement hard and they roiled around him, cloaks billowing-

Hermione’s heart stuttered. Then rage filled her bones and burned her fear away. Arming herself with a happy memory, a recent, tipsy evening during the Head Club where everyone had been reduced to teary laughter at an offhand, deadpan joke Lucius made, she pointed her wand at the dementors. 

“Expecto Patronum!” The silver otter exploded from the end of her wand and went for the dementors, surging from one of them to the next with blinding speed. They screamed in eerie, impotent rage, and fled. 

“Lucius!” Hermione yelled, running to him.

Falling to her knees, she saw that the Potions Professor had fainted. At least, she thought he had. Violent shivers wracked him and his eyes were rolled back in his head. She had to get him warm. He _had_ to wake up. 

He hadn’t been fed from. She would have seen it if he had been. But he was sensitive to them, vulnerable as people with troubled pasts and repeated exposure would be. Would he have heard the sound of his wife and son being tortured, as Harry had heard his parents being murdered? 

Hermione trembled, and panic threatened. He must have been so afraid. 

Her academic brain took over. What dementors did to people, or _one of_ the things that dementors did to people, was very similar to an extreme form of shock. Hermione wouldn’t be able to reverse the effects entirely, but she _could_ at least warm him up and give a little energy. 

A quick bit of wandwork and a bit of colour bloomed across his cheeks. Within a minute, he returned to consciousness with a shuddering breath.

Lucius stilled, and looked up at her. Their eyes met. Sharp brown into muddled grey. 

“Miss Parkinson.” He mumbled. 

“She’s fine.” Hermione reassured him. A quick glance was enough to confirm that this was true. George had wrapped her up in his hideous jacket and her friends were crowding all around her. They meant well, but Hermione knew it would only make things worse. They needed to get Vicky to Madame Pomfrey right away.

Turning her gaze down to Lucius, she asked him, “Can you stand?”

He nodded, and staggered upright with a wince. 

Hermione took charge and called all the children back to her with a voice-amplifying charm. Once they were all back, she did a quick head-count. No-one was missing, thank Merlin. 

She kept Lucius to her side, where she could keep an eye on him. She kept her wand out, and saw that he had his out too. 

* * *

Hermione glared at Lucius out of the corner of her eyes. Now that he wasn’t in imminent danger and the children were safe, she had plenty of time to be angry with him. She wasn’t sure who she was more furious with; him, for telling her what to do, or herself for listening. 

Finally, she could hold it in no longer. 

“I hope you didn’t tell me to stay behind with the children because I’m a woman, Lucius.” She said tightly. 

A flicker of disgust flashed across his proud face. It was strangely reassuring to see. “A Muggle preconception, one I have always found very stupid. Witches have always been at the forefront of every field of magic.”

This mollified her, but left her with questions. Why, then, _had_ he told her to stay behind with the students? Lucius walked on, seemingly content to say nothing further. His eyes were hard though, and she could see he was scanning their surroundings… which was what she should be doing. 

She focused on watching out for more dementors. They saw nothing but fog, heard nothing but the sounds of the group’s passage. They crossed the bridge in utter silence. Neither she nor Lucius put their wands away until they crossed into the main courtyard. Some of the students burst into tears of relief, and she couldn’t help but let out an explosive sigh as the tension left her. 

Madame Pomfrey was waiting for them in the courtyard; she always seemed to know when she was needed. A few sixth and seventh years followed at her heels, her ever-present band of helpers, and together they organised the most distressed of the students and started leading off towards the infirmary. Hermione gave Lucius a questioning look when he did not go with them, but he only shook his head. 

“The Headmistress will want our report.” Lucius said. “I am well enough, Hermione.”

He might be right, there, but she would keep an eye on him just to be sure. Hermione spotted the Gryffindor Head girl and waved her over, “Joanna, would you make sure everyone gets back to the common room safely? Thank you.” 

With that dealt with, she and Lucius headed straight for McGonagall’s office.

“Then why?” She continued now that they were alone. “Did you think I couldn’t cast a patronus?”

It had been a long time since they had said anything to one another, but he knew exactly what she meant. 

“On the contrary; I knew that you could. Yaxley told us it's form after you broke into the Ministry. An otter, as I saw today. No, I asked you to watch over the children because you are the more powerful of the two of us, and it made more sense to hold you in reserve.”

Hermione followed the thought through. “You mean, in case there were more Dementors other than the ones we saw.”

“Precisely. In the case of retreat, if I had to guess which one of us would survive long enough to get the children back to the castle, the answer is easy.”

The cool, measured way he spoke of his own death was appalling. A chill broke out over her skin.

“You shouldn’t say things like that.” 

Lucius made a sound that might have been laughter, but the echoes of the stone distorted the sound, making it jarring and strange. “Why not? It is true.”

Hermione said nothing else on their way to the Headmistress’ office. She was so profoundly disturbed by the way he had spoken that she could hardly maintain her composure. 

They let themselves in to find the rest of the staff were already there. 

Hermione saw that Lucius was still too pale, and summoned up a House Elf to bring them both steaming mugs of hot chocolate. In the meantime, McGonagall peppered them with questions, which they did their best to answer. Had they seen where the dementors had come from? Had Miss Parkinson been fed from? Had they seen any other dementors aside from the ones they had fought off? 

“Thank the stars the two of you were there.” Professor Sinistra said, at last. “Not many wizards could cast a patronus powerful enough to repel not one, but two dementors, especially if taken by surprise.”

Lucius started, and murmured thanks to Sinistra for this praise. He seemed to have to strain to avoid looking at Hermione. He needn’t have worried that she would begrudge him for it. He had done most of the work, after all. 

“Well- that’s the end of that, isn’t it?” Grubbly-Plank said, cutting straight through the pleasantries. “We tried, it didn’t work, it isn’t safe. I’m sure we could come up with plenty of other things to keep the children busy.”

“What about Hogsmeade?” Neville asked, and Hermione knew that he was thinking of his family. The Longbottoms weren’t far out of Hogsmeade. “If the Dementors got in once, they can do it again.”

McGonagall replied, “Quite right, Neville. I have already sent word to the Ministry but apparently there have been cases similar to ours all over England. The Aurors will not be here for quite some time.”

The teachers looked at one another. It didn’t take a legilimens to know what they were thinking. The Hogwarts wards were some of the greatest known to the wizarding world. Once activated, they were basically impenetrable. None of the dementors had made it past their protections so far. 

McGonagall said decisively, “In the meantime, we’ll evacuate the town. Hogwarts has enough space for everyone. ”

Lucius made a dubious noise. “How are we to do that? There are hundreds of people there. We don’t have enough people who can cast the patronus to guarantee their safety.”

Minerva turned to him, disapproval apparent. “Are you so worried, Lucius?” 

“Certainly I am. There were witnesses. Doubtless the whole town already knows about the dementors. They will be terrified. Hundreds of frightened people all together… it will be like a siren call for them.”

As one, they all looked to Grubbly-Plank. She nodded grimly. 

Tiberius mused, “The Ministry won’t establish a new branch of the Floo Network. They won’t have the resources… I have a few Portkeys to the school. It isn’t much, but certainly you are welcome to them, Headmistress.” 

Hermione was shocked. Portkeys tied to the school were absolutely illegal. It was also meant to be impossible without the express permission of the Headmistress _and_ the Ministry.

Minerva levelled a steely glare at him at this admission. “Tiberius, honestly! Never mind, they will be very useful. Neville, it might be worth writing to George. Between the two of you, I’m sure you know every way of getting into the castle worth knowing.” 

“Those that can apparate can come as close to the grounds as possible.” Sinistra said. “Those of us that can cast the charm can wait at a predetermined spot to bring them in.”

Hermione let everyone else handle the talk of evacuation. Her mind was too busy dwelling on the matter of _how_ the dementors had gotten in in the first place. 

“I can go to Hogsmeade.” Hermione said suddenly. “I cast the spells. If I can just see the barrier, I can figure out what went wrong. Maybe I can mend the charms and improve them somehow to stop more from coming in.”

No one liked this idea very much, but honestly, she hadn’t really been asking. This was her responsibility. 

McGonagall straightened in her chair, and everyone fell quiet. “I also cast those wards, Professor Granger. We will go together.”

“Minerva, it’s far too dangerous. You can’t go.” Grubbly-Plank said bluntly. 

The Headmistress gave her an icy look, but the Care of Magical Creatures professor didn’t back down, and the rest of the staff took the opportunity to voice their agreement. 

“Well then, it appears I’ve been overruled. Is she to go alone?” Her voice made it very clear that she expected someone to volunteer. 

As Hermione had known he would, Neville said, “I’ll go.”

Hermione refused him. “Thanks Neville, really, but you’re one of the best fighters we have. We’ll need you to make sure everyone from Hogsmeade gets here safely.”

This was true. It just wasn’t her main reason. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but Neville had never fully mastered the patronus charm, and more importantly, whenever she thought of him facing any serious danger, she could only think of Teddy Lupin, Harry, and every child who had had to grow up without a parent. She thought of Hannah. Hannah was going to have their baby any day now. She thought of Hannah raising two children alone. Hermione would rather go by herself than be responsible for that. But to go by herself would be idiocy. How would she defend herself if dementors attacked while she was repairing the barrier? 

His grand-mother made to say something, but Minerva headed her off. “We can’t spare you either, Augusta. You’re staying behind.”

Professor Longbottom’s gnarled hands twisted before her in displeasure, but she said nothing. The Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor was more than capable of casting a patronus, but her own battles in the war had taken their toll. The trip would be too much for her. 

Who did that leave her? Grubbly-Plank was right; McGonagall was out of the question. She was too important (and too old, Hermione thought, hating herself for it) to risk. Hogwarts needed her. For the same reasons, it couldn’t be Pomfrey even if the Infirmary Witch _could_ cast the patronus charm, which Hermione wasn’t sure of. Grubbly-Plank might have worked, if she were younger and fitter. Her knowledge of magical creatures would have come in handy against dementors. 

Tiberius and Trelawney were looking anywhere but at her. Sinistra met her eyes bravely and Hermione knew that if she asked, the Astronomy Professor would come. But she didn’t know how much fighting experience Sinistra had, if any, and she knew that she couldn’t produce a corporeal patronus. 

Then there was Binns. Binns was sort of tempting. He couldn’t produce a patronus, but was it possible that as a ghost, he might actually be impervius from a dementor’s attacks? On the other hand, could Binns do anything that might hurt a dementor at all? When was the last time he had even left the castle? Taking him along wasn’t worth the gamble. There were simply too many unknowns. 

That only left her with one option. Lucius. He could produce a full patronus and he had already proven himself against dementors, even though one had taken him by surprise. He was fit and strong. He had no young children dependent on him. 

And yet… Hermione hated the idea. If he came with her, she couldn’t guarantee his safety. The idea of him coming to harm was… well, it made her sick. She remembered how cold he’d looked, lying there, as she fought to revive him. 

But she couldn’t put the whole school, and Hogsmeade too, at risk just to spare Lucius. Bringing him was the right thing to do. No matter how much it bothered her, he was the best man for the job. 

The answer must have been clear to everyone else too, because everyone turned to stare at the Potions Professor. Lucius said nothing. The silence dragged on, and someone coughed suggestively. Lucius sat very still and said nothing.

Hermione’s treacherous, clever mind realised something else. Something she shied away from the second it came to her. Hagrid had told her that Dementors liked feeding on those they had fed from before. Lucius had been in Azkaban for months. She remembered the way that dementor had looked when it had come back for him; like a shark scenting blood in the water. 

If the need arose, Lucius could even serve as bait. 

Lucius finally acknowledged the pointed glares of the other staff members with a deep sigh. He finished his hot chocolate and asked, “When do we leave?”

Her heart sank. 

* * *

Hermione saw no point wasting daylight, so an hour later she made her way down into the labyrinthine dungeons beneath the school. 

Not far past the entrance to the Slytherin common room, Lucius’ office stood out like a sore thumb. The door was ornate, painted a deep green with a silver dragon shaped knocker in the center. The silver had been polished until it shone. Hermione thought privately that it was a bit overdone. 

There was no answer. Hermione looked around. There could be no doubt that she was in the right place.

Still no answer, though. No sounds at all from within. Abandoning all pretence at patience, Hermione banged on the door. 

“Coming, coming.” His voice rang out. 

The door swung inwards. Lucius had made some concessions to practicality in that he was not wearing one of his cloaks, though he wore a long grey coat cut in wizarding style. His hair was pulled up and out of his face. He was not carrying his cane and the sight of him without it, more than anything else, made him seem like a different man. 

Hermione wore muggle clothes and felt decidedly unfashionable next to him, but she had everything she needed. Her vinewood wand, a spare just in case, and courage. 

“Are you ready?” She asked. 

He raised an eyebrow as if to say _obviously_ , and they set off. 

Top secret news travelled very fast in Hogwarts. By the time Hermione and Lucius had made it out of the dungeons, the hallways were packed with students. It was quiet. They children knew what Lucius and Hermione were doing; it was written all over their faces. They watched the Gryffindor and Slytherin Heads of House go as if they would never see them again. A few of them waved silently to her, and Hermione summoned up her bravest smile for them in reply. 

The thought of how frightened they must be made Hermione feel sick. 

Lucius must be terrified as well. He’d only been in Azkaban for six months, but she knew from what little Hagrid had told her that six months was more than enough. She couldn’t imagine how he must feel at the idea of having to confront them again. It was one thing to come upon something terrifying without expecting it. The dread of _knowing_ was something else altogether. 

She tried to remind herself that bringing him along had been the right thing to do. Lucius was simply the best choice. She wondered if knowing that would make her feel any better if the dementors sucked the soul right out of him. It would be her fault. 

They went out into the courtyard. The sun shone weakly through a haze of pearly grey clouds. 

“I’m sorry.” Hermione said, feeling really awful about it. 

“Don’t be sorry, Hermione.” Lucius said. He smiled in a way that did not fit the occasion. He was walking with a spring in his step, and only slowed down when he noticed that she was falling behind. “I’m starting to think there’s hope for you yet.”

It occurred to her, in a flash of inspiration, that there was still a way out of this. Neither she nor Lucius had told Minerva about him fainting down at Hogsmeade. Minerva wouldn’t have had a chance to speak to Pomfrey, yet, since she was still looking after Miss Parkinson. If she told her what had happened to Lucius, the Headmistress would probably forbid him to go. Not only might he still be weak, but it was proof that he might not be able to handle it. All Hermione had to do was humiliate him. She just had to go to Minerva and tell her that Lucius wasn’t capable. That he would only slow her down.

Hermione stood, looking back at the castle, and tried to convince herself to do it. He might never forgive her and worse, she wasn’t sure if she could ever forgive herself. And yet, the alternative-

Lucius had seen her dawdling, but didn’t understand. He assumed that she was nervous, perhaps thought that she was thinking of going back to the castle. 

He put a kind hand on her shoulder. “Come, now. There is nothing to fear.” Her regret must have shown on her face when she turned to him, because Lucius pursed his lips and said, “Hermione, you have my word. I may not be a great wizard, but I won’t let any harm come to you.”

 _But you are a great wizard._ Hermione thought. _You’re just a different kind of wizard. You’re amazing at potions. You’d do anything for your family, for your friends. You worked so hard on the Ascension with me, because you care about the students of this school. You’re clever, and funny, and kind to me, and I’m going to make sure you see your son and grandson again._

“That’s completely wrong, actually.” Hermione said. “But I _am_ better in a fight than you, Lucius. I’m going to keep you safe. I promise you.”

Lucius took a moment to digest this, before saying with a little smile, “If that is true, Hermione, then I am safer than I was when I woke up in my bed this morning. Lead on. We are losing the day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh it's kicking off!
> 
> You guys can see why this needed to be split. This chapter alone was 8k. It just would have been far too cumbersome and awkward to read in its original form. 
> 
> What did you think of Lucius' patronus being a peacock? I have always seen it as being an absolute fact but I know everyone has different viewpoints on it. Also, if you haven't already, please check out what the actor for Viktor Krum looks like nowadays. What an absolute Adonis. 
> 
> Please let me know your thoughts on the chapter. And don't worry, expect an update in the next three-five days or so.


	11. Lucius Malfoy and the Joy Stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my lovelies! Seemed like everyone really enjoyed last chapter which is wonderful, this chapter is part two of three! I hope you enjoy this one as it's one of my faves. 
> 
> JessariOfErebor worked her butt off editing this one with me right up until midnight last night, so thank you!
> 
> Please read the chapter notes at the end as there's some very important info in there!

Hermione and Lucius came to the edge of the school grounds. Just a few feet further and the strongest of the wards would start to ease off. 

It was like standing at the foot of death. 

They went over their equipment. Hermione was pleasantly surprised, but not exactly shocked, to see that Lucius had also thought to bring a spare wand. The long, dark wand was tucked into a long sleeve inside his jacket. Hermione held her vinewood in her hand. Her spare, the apple wand she’d used for years before Lucius had returned her wand to her, was strapped along her calf. It was not as powerfully attuned to her as the vinewood, but it would do perfectly well in a pinch.

Resting on his hip was a strange glass flask inside which a nauseating, grey-green mixture swirled. 

“Seven parts despair, three parts terror.” He explained. “The glass will shatter if thrown. I thought it might draw them off.”

She eyed the flask with a new appreciation. It was a fantastic idea. One which she absolutely did not want to know how he had come up with. 

Lucius let his coat fall into place again. “And you? Let us see what miracle you have made.”

Hermione smiled and reached into her pocket and brought out the Stone. 

Like so many of her inventions, she’s got the idea from the war. Specifically, she’d gotten it from Harry. 

Harry had told her about the dementors he’d had to pass by to get to Voldemort on the day of the final battle. He hadn’t been able to use his patronus for fear of giving away his position, but somehow he’d been able to do it. It had always struck her as a little odd. When she’d heard the news about the dementors being expelled from Azkaban, she’d asked him about it. 

He’d told her about the resurrection stone. He’d told her about his parents, and Sirius, and Remus, and how their protective aura had been able to keep him safe. The dementors had had no power over him when they had walked by his side. This was a very beautiful, sweet story, but Hermione wasn’t quite sure it had been right. It was the joy the resurrection stone had granted him that had kept him safe. He hadn’t needed a patronus. Happiness, and more than that, peace, had been a shield around him. 

The idea had fascinated her. The patronus was the only known defence against dementors, and it was far beyond the skill of most witches and wizards. And what about the squibs and the muggles? With dementors running rampant, people needed a better alternative. The Stone was her solution. 

She’d been waiting for it, so she noticed when a warm, peaceful feeling rolled over her. Hermione suppressed it as best she could. She was starting to develop a resistance to it. The Stone’s power had made her downright dopey the first time she had ever held it. 

She held it up so Lucius could see it better. “I’d take a step back, if I were you.” She warned, and was rewarded with the sight of Lucius Malfoy stumbling backwards to get away from her.

The Stone was small enough to fit comfortably in the palm of her hand. The chalk was white, lumpy, and encased in a smooth, clear glass. The Stone made a gentle tapping noise as it moved inside its shell. The overall effect was not particularly impressive. She hadn’t had time to inscribe it with glyphs, as you usually would with a signature creation.

From a safe distance, Lucius peered at it, obviously perplexed. “Chalk?” He guessed. 

“Yes, chalk. It holds positive emotions the best out of everything I’ve tried. I injected it with Millywicke’s Tinctured Joy and a Peace Potion. Then I cast three charms on it. A charm to deflect dark spirits, a fortitude charm, and a binding charm to seal them together. The glass has a projecting charm to send it all outwards.” She blushed nervously. “I call it the Joy Stone.”

“A wonder indeed.”

“Thank you.” Hermione said simply. “There’s one problem, though.” 

Lucius looked warily at her. “And what would that be?”

A stab of mirth took her surprise and Hermione let out an explosive giggle. Lucius flinched back from the sudden sound. 

A little annoyed with herself for letting the Stone’s magic get the better of her, she explained, “It isn’t exactly finished. It has a radius of a few feet, and I have to take about five different potions to stop it from affecting me when I’m holding it. As you can see, it’s a work in progress.”

Lucius blinked owlishly and she started screeching with laughter at the sight, unable to stop herself. 

“May I assume that you did not have time to take these potions tonight?” Lucius asked calmly. 

She nodded in between gales of laughter. “It’s sporadic. After a while you sort of get used to it. Just don’t say or do anything funny.”

“Well,” Lucius said. “Given the situation, I don’t think that will be particularly difficult.”

* * *

It took her another fifteen minutes to get used to the Stone. Lucius did not comment on her condition, and they talked tactics as they went.

Before they went into the village, Hermione cast a Disillusionment charm over the pair of them, then a charm of Discernment that would allow them to see one another. Lucius cast a spell on their shoes that would stop them from making any noise when they walked. She didn’t know if _muffliato_ would work on dementors, but she cast it anyway. 

When they were ready, she led him through the village. The streets were all but empty, and Hermione wondered if Minerva had summoned the people of Hogsmeade to Hogwarts yet. 

Her senses were stretched to their limit, trying to catch where the barrier had fallen. So far, all she could feel were the spells people had cast around their houses. They were the simple sort that most witches and wizards could cast, and therefore not at all effective against dementors. 

“I don’t suppose this invention of yours has ever been tested on a real dementor, has it?” Lucius asked dubiously. Despite their stealth-enhancing spells, he spoke in a whisper. Empty streets tended to have that effect on people. 

“Well, not exactly, but my research was very thorough-”

Lucius sagged for just a moment, before recovering himself. She didn’t say anything further. 

As soon as they reached the outer edge of the barrier she was able to cast a few sounding charms to pinpoint the source of the dementors entry. She could feel the wrongness past the far side of Hogsmeade, a short way into the Forbidden Forest. Of course it was. 

“Come on.” She said, nodding her head. “It isn’t far.” 

They wasted no time, heading straight for the break in the charm-wall. They kept the barrier firmly to their right the entire time. Every now and then, Hermione would check the charmwork again to make sure they were heading the right way. They were on high-alert, as the forest was an extremely dangerous place on a good day… and this was not a good day.

Even compared to the empty wizarding village, the Forest was quiet. Unnaturally hushed. The trees seemed grey, washed out and lifeless. The air was still and damp. Hermione found herself wanting to hold her breath. Lucius seemed similarly affected. He gave her a comforting, if unconvincing, smile. 

When they finally approached the breach, Hermione fully expected to see hordes of dementors pressing up against the charms. Instead, all she saw was the faint shimmer of the charmwork in the air, like petrol in water. 

She approached slowly, wand at the ready. She murmured under her breath and her vision _shifted_ , and she saw the great tapestry of the protective barriers Minerva, Flitwick and herself had made. Charms that had been cast around Hogsmeade in a great net. Each layer of spellwork was in a slightly different colour. 

And right in front of her, a gaping hole. 

“By all means, Hermione, take your time,” Lucius hissed from behind her, making her jump. “We are in no hurry!”

Hermione ignored him. She peeled back layer after layer of the magic around the entry point, trying to find where it had gone wrong. The shreds that were left hadn’t been unravelled, or cut. What she was looking for, what she had feared she would find, was not there. The spells had not been tampered with. How had they been broken, then? It was strange that it was only one section that had been affected, and there so drastically.

The answer came to her, and she swayed in horror. The charms had drained themselves dry.

Hermione pulled her attention back to her surroundings. 

Nearby, she heard Lucius whisper, “Well, what have you discovered?”

“It’s worse than I thought.” She said slowly. The implications…

He swiftly asked, “Sabotage?” And she knew that he had been thinking it too. 

“No. The spells fell apart. They’ve been… drained.”

There was a long pause, and she could almost hear him thinking. “I don’t follow. They were cast only a year or so ago, weren’t they?”

“I think they were put under too much pressure. McGonagall, Flitwick and I only built them to withstand a few dozen dementors at once.” 

Lucius said nothing for a long time, and by the look on his face, she thought that he was giving serious consideration to the idea of running away. All things considered, she probably wouldn’t have held it against him. 

“By your estimation,” Lucius said at last, “How many dementors do you think broke through the barrier?”

It was impossible to say for sure, but she could guess. “At least a hundred. All pushing down at a single, concentrated point.” She said. 

The look on his face, as she said those words, took her back. It took her back to the moment in the Ministry when the Prophecy had shattered. The face of a man confronted with total, irreparable disaster. 

“Can the spells be rewoven?” He asked.

“I think so.” She grimaced at the uncertainty in her voice, and she tried again. “I’m sure they can be. But all I can do for now is patch them up so that one or two of them couldn’t get through. To make them strong enough to withstand that many dementors…” 

_Impossible._ At least, not without the help of more witches and wizards than she could call here at short notice. The wards she, Flitwick and Minerva had cast were an imitation of the ones the Founders had placed on Hogwarts. But even those had their limits. 

Lucius said nothing, and she turned her strength to remaking the spellwork as best as she could. It wasn’t easy, and she was sweating by the time she was done. Trying to completely rebuild something it had taken all three of them to create was like pushing a boulder up hill. It would have been easier if the threads of the magic had just been cut. As they were, ragged and frayed, it was a lot more complicated than a simple reweaving. 

Finally, Hermione had to accept that she had done the best job she could. It might hold against two or three dementors sweeping by. They had to tell McGonagall what they had discovered, but she gave herself a much needed minute to catch her breath. Lucius kept glancing at her, anxious to be on their way. 

As she recuperated from the intense spellwork, Lucius asked her, “This Stone of yours. Exactly how many dementors do you think it could repel?”

Hermione managed to say something about how it would be useless to speculate. She’d tested it only once, and that had only been on a poltergeist. There was no way of knowing what would happen if the Stone had to fend off a real dementor. 

She tried, “Well, theoretically, in the right conditions-”

Lucius let her babble for a good long while before he finally forgot his manners and interrupted her. 

“How many?” He asked, his tone making it clear that he expected an answer. 

She didn’t think she could avoid it. She had dragged him into this. The least she could do was tell him the truth. 

In a small voice, she told him. “Maybe five of them?” 

The safety of Hogwarts had never felt so far away. 

* * *

They were in an impossible position, and she had put them there. 

In coming to the Forbidden Forest, they were exactly halfway between Hogsmeade and Hogwarts. They could go to Hogsmeade and send McGonagall a Howler from there, by which time it might be too late and countless more dementors could have infested the village. Or they could go straight for Hogwarts with all haste.

They reasoned, quite soundly, that the route through the Forbidden Forest to Hogsmeade was by no means guaranteed to be any safer than the route to Hogwarts. Either way, they might not make it. Hundreds of dementors were very likely in the Forest, and they weren’t the Forest’s only dangers. 

They had to get a message to McGonagall. Normally, Hermione would send out a patronus, but in this situation it would be criminally stupid to leave themselves with only one for protection. Unable to think of any other way, Hermione Transfigured a handful of leaves into a pencil and a piece of paper. Then, she turned a worm into an owl. She wrote down everything they had discovered onto the piece of paper and tied it to the bird’s leg. She tried to write it in such a way that they sounded like calm, dedicated professionals, rather the terrified witch and wizard they actually were. 

She enchanted the owl to be drawn to Hogwarts and set it free. Lucius watched silently as the bird soared up through the trees. At least it seemed to be heading in the right direction. 

“That should work.” She said to bolster his spirits and hers. They needed any sort of hope they could get right now. 

He didn’t question it. Perhaps he knew it would have served no purpose. 

* * *

They didn’t exactly run back to the castle, but their pace was relentless. Her chest was burning before long. His long legs ate up the distance and she found a strength she didn’t know she had to keep up with him. 

It was difficult to judge exactly how far they’d come. The light was different here, a premature dusk, and though they’d surely been walking for at least half an hour, it didn’t seem to have gotten any darker. As far as she could tell, they were making excellent time. Fear of the unknown was an excellent expedient, of course, but there was more to it than that. 

Hermione knew all about the creatures, real and imagined, that were rumoured to make their home in the Forbidden Forest. Acromantulas. Shade wraiths. The Fell Lady and her pack of hounds. The nightmare pools and their gatherers, the bone groves. An actual demon that was said to have nested here, centuries ago. Hermione wondered just how long a demon lived for. No-one knew. They were meant to be extinct. 

None of these creatures had hunted Lucius and Hermione as she had feared they would. This, she knew, was the true reason they had made such good time. The Forbidden Forest was not actually that huge, it was merely _dense._

This was not to say that they saw nothing at all. Just as Hermione had been about to lift Lucius up and over a thicket of thorns, he had frantically waved for her to put him down. He pulled her beneath the shadow of a tree and pressed a finger to his lips. They cowered there for about a minute until Hermione heard _something_ lumber away. Something huge. 

When she asked Lucius what he had seen, he only shook his head. Trembling, he motioned her on, and they kept going.

Whatever it was, going around it might have saved their lives but it meant going deeper into the Forest than Hermione would have liked. The trees hung lower and thicker. Their branches gouged at one another, engaged in their centuries-long battle for sunlight. She could no longer see the sky. She could see fog, though. It swirled around their feet. 

She tried to tell herself that it might mean nothing. The Forbidden Forest had fog all year round.

But it wasn’t nothing, was it? Something slotted together in her mind. It had been foggy all over the highlands at the time of their first Quidditch match against each other. Fog that her weather-clock hadn’t predicted. 

It was too big a coincidence. It must have been the dementors. Had they been breeding around Hogwarts for that long? How long ago had they broken through their defensive charms? 

Hermione felt sick. She had blamed Lucius for it. Accused him of charming the weather to give his team the advantage. 

Hating herself, she very nearly gave into despair, but Lucius broke the silence. 

His tone was almost light, and Hermione thought he might be trying to cheer her up. “Remind me again why McGonagall decided to place anti-apparition charms over the entire Forbidden Forest, won’t you?”

“Probably so a bunch of Death Eaters and the Dark Lord himself couldn’t just turn up again?”

Lucius said nothing, and she bit her lip. “Sorry. That was really rude. I’m just-” Just what? It didn’t help for them to lash out at one another. Taking her guilt out on him didn’t change the fact that her determination to think the worst of him had made her miss a vital clue. Lucius had come here of his own accord, albeit with a little peer pressure, to help her. For that alone, he deserved her respect. Her kindness. 

He did not seem fazed. “Not at all. Besides, you are right. Once again, my past follies are my own destruction.”

Under any normal circumstances such a statement would have given her food for thought, maybe even prompted a conversation between them. As it was, she could only nod and keep going.

They were perhaps fifteen minutes from the castle wards when she noticed that in all her years, she had never heard a forest so quiet. Not even this one. As if every animal in the forest was standing completely still and holding its breath. Hermione came to such a sudden stop that she almost tripped, and Lucius looked back at her, eyebrow raised in a question. 

An unnatural cold slithered over her skin. It started in her heart and spread out all the way to her fingertips. 

She and Lucius looked at one another. He had realised; it was written all over his face. 

Their breath fogged the air in rapid little puffs. The dementors must be very close. It was not as painful or as crippling as she remembered, and because of that she knew that the Joy Stone was working. As the chill grew greater Lucius unconsciously drifted closer and closer to her, seeking the warmth and comfort of the Stone. 

“We’ll fight back to back.” Hermione said, moving into position behind him. Her wand was ready as she took a careful step backwards, eyes on the trees. “Straight for the main gates. Don’t stop moving, no matter what happens.”

They went on. The fog around their feet thickened until they could not see the earth.

Hermione heard their rattling breath, first. Then she saw the ragged edge of a cloak flash behind a tree not ten feet away.

Lucius faltered and groaned in terror, and she kept walking backwards, forcing him on. “Keep going!” She hissed. 

She wasn't angry. She couldn’t afford to be angry. She had to think happy thoughts. 

Her mother and father. So proud of their daughter, no matter what. The way they had taken her back into their lives, even after what she had done. Hagrid’s shelf, and the photo in the middle. Her Charms class. The sound of the Great Hall welcoming her home. Getting drunk at the Head Club. Lucius’ arm around her waist as they spun through the Great Hall together. Days and nights sequestered in the Teacher’s Nook in the library with him, working to create something the world hadn’t seen in centuries. Even if they had failed, it had still been beautiful. 

_Life_ was beautiful. 

She had so many happy memories. The words “ _expecto patronum”_ were barely even out of her mouth before the otter formed, solid and shining with a nimbus of light. It launched itself headlong at a dementor that floated watchfully and drove it off into the shadow of the trees. 

Behind her, she heard Lucius’ “ _expecto patronum!”_ and they picked up their pace a little. 

Patronus or no patronus, a witch and a wizard alone were enticing prey. The dementors were relentless. The patronus didn’t kill them, just weakened and scattered them. Soon they came not singly, or in pairs, but as a whole pack. Too many to count. 

From the corner of her eye, she saw the peacock. Its light was stuttering, flickering. Its proud head dipped low. She looked over her shoulder at Lucius and sure enough, the wizard was faltering. His breathing was haggard and as she watched, a paroxysm of fear made him flinch back from a dementor that braved the light of his patronus.

Sensing his vulnerability, the dementors swooped towards him. The peacock was drowned in the grey of their cloaks, skeletal hands grasped to choke the life out of it- 

Hermione heard the sucking noise of a dementor and knew she had allowed one to come too close. A wave of her wand and the otter banished the thing. She risked another look over her shoulder and saw that the peacock’s definition was gone, and Lucius was protected by a mere silvery haze. 

They came to a standstill. He could go no further. The dementors were swarming, dozens and dozens of them, and Hermione’s heart seized.

Lucius Malfoy was going to die. 

What he told her echoed in her mind. He had been willing to die so that she could get the students to safety. He’d dismissed it as a matter of practicality. As if the idea didn’t bother him at all. As if his life was somehow less precious than hers, or anyone else’s. 

Hermione didn’t believe that. She couldn’t. The fact that he couldn’t do some of the things that she could do didn’t make him any less brave, or less loyal, for coming with her. It made him _more so._ And it _had_ been bravery and loyalty, she knew. Lucius hadn’t come here because it was the right thing to do. He’d come here so she wouldn’t have to go alone. 

_Lucius Malfoy, you are wrong about so many things. You’re wrong about me. Most importantly, you’re wrong about yourself._

_I hope, one day, I can explain that to you._

“Lucius!” She called, and he turned. She could barely see him through all the dementors. There was no time. She shoved the Joy Stone into his free hand. 

The second the Stone left her, the awful cold snapped around her with a painful force. Her breath came out in a fogged gasp. 

The despair. It was a current all around her, tearing off chunks of her strength, her _will_. It would feed on her until there was nothing left. 

Hermione refused to give up. Desperate, she clung to that certainty, that hope, she’d felt only moments ago. Her parents. Her friends. Old and new. Him. She held them up as a shield, forged them into a sword. The otter held strong. 

In Lucius’ hand, the Stone burst into light. A dementor surged forward and tried to wrench his face upwards. Others hung above him. Lucius didn’t seem to care. His gaze fell downwards, downwards, to the Stone, as though transfixed-

A few dementors still came for her. She fought to keep her memories alive. The struggle was brutal, but she remembered. The otter scattered one, two, three dementors. They regrouped. Did they understand that without the Stone she couldn’t hold them back forever?

Her lungs struggled for air in the deathly cold. Her fingers were growing numb on her wand.

A flickering light pulsed around the edges of her vision. Incredibly, paradoxically, she heard the sound of laughter. She turned and saw- 

Lucius Malfoy held the Joy Stone up high. His hair and cloak snapped in a fierce wind. The Stone was singing like a struck crystal gong, and his face was filled with hope, peace, and wonder. 

His eyes fell upon her and he cried, “I FEEL YOUNG!”

Between his fingers, the rays of light from the Joy Stone were searing now, molten. Where it fell upon the dementors, they were scoured away. Not sent running, or banished, just… gone. The waves of delight coming from the Stone were too much, overwhelming, and Hermione pinched her eyes shut and tried to stifle the maniacal laugh growing in her belly-

When she opened her eyes, the dementors were gone. Lucius was crumpled, motionless, on the ground. There were leaves in his hair. He was laughing breathlessly, eyes crinkled with mirth. He sounded exhausted. 

Exhausted or not, he was alive. Thanks to him, to his reaction to the Stone, they had survived. The dementors were… dead. Elation and gratitude swelled up in her, and she swayed over to him and helped him up. 

Slipping an arm around him to support him, she gently said, “Come on, let’s go, not far now-”

It wasn’t enough. Very soon, she realised the necessity of leading Lucius by the hand. She let go of him, just for a moment, to try to make sure they were going the right way, only to turn back and see him attempting to do a cartwheel, with a moderate degree of success.

She was able to get him to stop and kept leading him on, commiserating all the while. “Oh, it’s so annoying isn’t it? I’m really sorry about this, but it isn’t completely finished, bound to be a few problems-” But Lucius didn’t seem to be paying much attention to her, or to anything, and so she trailed off. 

Hermione led him on, praying with every step she took that she would see the trees break and catch a glimpse of Hogwarts. But then, she was praying for a lot of things. Praying that everyone had been evacuated to Hogwarts in time. Praying that Minerva had gotten her note. 

She busied herself with these thoughts to keep herself from thinking of the very immediate danger they were still in. Lucius could not cast magic, and she wasn’t much better off. The Forest would be coming alive now, in its awful way. All manner of creatures would be emerging from their nests, realising the dementors were gone, and venturing out again… If any one of those things should stumble across her and Lucius or, worse, if more dementors came...

_Best not to think about that._

But the trees _did_ break, and she saw it. Daylight. Even more wonderful, she saw the castle. Timeless, welcoming, and _safe._

By then, walking was almost more than Lucius could manage. He kept himself upright and sort of shuffled his feet forward, but Hermione had to do all the rest. He leaned on her, the thin huffs of his breath warm against her scalp. Her breath came red-raw and ragged in her chest. God, he was heavy. If only she could have trusted herself to lift him by magic, she would have done it. Drained as she was, she was terrified that she would only drop him. 

Near the castle boundaries, Hermione saw them. A gaggle of teachers and Hagrid. They rushed to meet them. Overjoyed to see them alive. Concerned at their dishevelled and exhausted state. Minerva started talking about the bird she’d sent. Hermione couldn’t keep her attention on the exact words. Keeping herself and Lucius standing was taking everything she had.

They led her for an interminable time, and when she next lifted up her eyes she saw that she was in the Infirmary. She did not let go of Lucius, not until Pomfrey convinced her that what he really needed was rest. Only then did Hermione release him to his bed and allow Pomfrey to convince her to take a sleeping draught herself. She didn’t need it, but she took it anyway. 

She fell into a deep sleep in the bed beside his, and did not wake until morning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay SO. Firstly, really really hoped you loved this chapter as much as I did. Were you sweating at certain points? I know I was. Even so, this was honestly an absolute *joy* (get it, get it??) to write. 
> 
> Secondly, I got some bad news, some good news, and some more good news, so please listen up. 
> 
> Bad news first? Bad news first. 
> 
> I know I promised that next chapter, part three, would come a couple of days after this one. Unfortunately I'mma have to break that promise by the looks of it, and it may be more like 5-7 days. 
> 
> The first bit of good news is that the reason it might be a bit slow is because the next chapter is LONG. It's grown to 7k and it's not stopping any time soon. So when you get it in about 5-7 days time, it's probably going to be sitting around about the 8-10k mark. So you'll effectively be getting two chapters for the price of one. Pretty cool, right? 
> 
> The second bit of good news is that we are getting a Christmas chapter!!!!!!!!! Yay! I'm going to release it somewhere around the 22nd-23rd my time, as I know we have readers from various different time zones ect. I myself am in Australia so I hope this plan works out well for you guys. This way, you've got a bit more leeway as to when to read it and hopefully still have it feel like Christmas Day for you. 
> 
> Thank you very very much for reading the story so far. I really hope you guys stay safe and well. Let me know your thoughts for the chapter, and I'll see you in 5-7 days for part three!


	12. Partners in Crime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Here it is; chapter twelve!
> 
> My editor gave me some really, really good advice for this chapter. She told me to split it. I refused, and here we are. It's massive. 
> 
> Enjoy, and thank you all so much for reading! Your reviews give me life! You're the best.

Hermione awoke to sunlight. 

Sitting up was easy. 

The moment she did, Madame Pomfrey appeared at her bedside. It was sort of uncanny, the way she always knew when she was needed. Always there to heal the sick and the weary, and make them drink some god-awful potion. 

But Hermione didn’t have time for any of that. She remembered  _ everything _ . Instead, she launched into a stream of questions. How long had she been asleep for? Was Lucius going to be alright? Had the evacuation been successful? Was the patch-up job she’d done on the barrier holding? 

Had the dementors really died?

Luckily, the Infirmary Witch was used to being peppered by all sorts of questions by newly awakened patients. Pomfrey answered everything shortly and matter of factly. She’d slept for almost a full day. Yes, everyone was fine. Lucius was in the bed next to hers, sleeping, and with only a little prodding, she pulled back the curtain to show Hermione. Some people had been hurt during the evacuation, but George Weasley had held the tunnel against the dementors until they had crossed the boundary into Hogwarts. For the first time since Fred’s death, the magpie had flown. 

It… it had worked. Everyone was okay. Hermione could hardly believe it. 

The second she’d answered the last of her questions, Madame Pomfrey gave her a bowl of chocolate ice cream and crossed her arms meaningfully. Under Pomfrey’s watchful eyes, Hermione ate the whole thing. 

“Alright.” Pomfrey said, out of nowhere. “You can come in.” 

The curtains parted and Minerva stood there. The Headmistress did not look thrilled to have been held off from seeing her. 

Without preamble, the Headmistress said, “Hermione, the Minister for Magic has owled for you. I’m sorry, but given the circumstances…”

“I’ll be right there.” Hermione promised, and Minerva gave her an approving, proud smile that made the horror of the dementors seem worth it, somehow. 

As the Headmistress left, Hermione’s eyes fell upon Lucius of their own accord. Pomfrey had put their beds near enough together that she could have reached out and touched him, had she wanted to. Lucius lay in a state of perfect slumber. His platinum hair fanned out on the pillow beneath his head. He looked… peaceful. It wasn’t the radiant peace that had been upon him when he had held up the Joy Stone, but something much more natural, more sustainable. Hermione couldn’t help but smile to see it. 

She hoped he would recover soon. There was no telling what the Joy Stone might have done to him. She hoped its effects wouldn’t be permanent. Her own initial experiments with it had certainly left her giddy, but nothing like what Lucius had experienced. 

And yet, despite his overwhelming reaction to the Stone, he had still been able to achieve something that was supposed to be impossible. How many dementors had there been in the clearing before Lucius had destroyed them? Two dozen? More? It was hard to say. One dementor looked much the same as any other. 

Hermione’s instincts told her that the way he had looked down to the Stone had had something to do with it. The memory was so clear in her mind; his eyes wide open as he stared down into the heart of the Stone, the radiance flickering over his face… the key lay there, she was sure of it. 

Noticing her lingering, Pomfrey said kindly, “I’ll look after him, Hermione. There’s a cup of hot chocolate with his name on it.”

“Thank you. Can you tell him-” Tell him  _ what?  _ Hermione had no idea. She felt strangely overwhelmed. She was tired; not physically, but in other ways. And yet she couldn’t bring herself to leave him without a message. “Tell him I’ll see him later.”

* * *

Pomfrey allowed Hermione to leave the Infirmary under several strict conditions. The first was that she should be kept warm and be allowed constant access to chocolate for at least the next twenty-four hours. The second was that she should not be allowed to Apparate. The third was that she should not be immediately conscripted to destroy every dementor in England with whatever new magic she had apparently come up with. 

These terms were obviously agreed to (though not by Hermione, who apparently could not be trusted to promise not to save the world at her own detriment, given half the chance), because it was under the watchful eyes of five grizzled Aurors that Hermione was shepherded to the Ministry like a great precious jewel. This struck her as rather funny, since the truly valuable cargo was in fact the Stone she kept in her pocket. 

What also struck her as funny was the fact that if the thing they actually feared struck in any meaningful numbers, she would be the one guarding  _ them.  _

At the very least, the Aurors made sure no-one got in her way or tried to question her, and they took her through the Official Entrance of the Ministry with minimal fuss. She was given a special pass, and they took her straight to the Minister’s Office, where Kingsley awaited. 

Kingsley Shacklebolt was every bit as powerful a presence as he had been when he was in active service in the Order. His years as Minister for Magic had only made him more intimidating. 

He stood tall and powerfully built, in the plum robes that had become his signature dress. He had grown older, as they all had. Him, perhaps more so than others. While they had all gone a more free spirited path, Kingsley had taken on the burden of leadership. 

The power of his office weighed on him. In one of the letters he occasionally wrote to her, Kingsley had told her that he had found more treachery, cruelty, and danger in one Upper Ministry Grand Committee meeting than he had in all his years as an Auror. She saw those battles upon his face now. There were wrinkles on his forehead and around his mouth that had not been there when she had last seen him… when would it have been? The Goblin Debates? Years ago, now. 

As she studied him, he stood up out of his chair and crossed the room to her. His face was strangely ashen. She saw hope on his face, yes, but there was fear there too. 

Kingsley held out his hand. “I’ve taken the potions you asked me to take. May I see it?”

Hermione gave him the Stone. With incredible care, he held it up to the light. He studied it intently for a moment, turning it this way and that. 

“And it’s true that with this, you and Lucius Malfoy… killed dementors?” His dark eyes fixed upon her, and Hermione realised that he didn’t know quite whether to believe her or not. She didn’t blame him. 

“Well, that bit was all Lucius. He’s given me some ideas. I think with some tweaking and some time, I can make them more reliable and reduce the side effects so that people can use them safely.” She knew Kinglsey had been told what had happened to Lucius. “We should be able to deter the dementors, or get rid of them completely if they get too close.”

“What do you need?” The Minister asked bluntly, giving her back the Stone. “Resources, staff, just name it. Your research will be our number one priority. You must make as many of these Stones as can be made. The Ministry will fund it. How long does it take you to make one?”

Hermione considered. “Once I’ve got all the potions prepared and the materials ready? About fifteen minutes.”

A wide smile dawned on Shacklebolt’s handsome face. “By Merlin, we can do it. Finally! I’ll give you an Order of Merlin for this. First class. In time, even… Have you considered a career in politics?” He asked, looking thoughtful. 

Hermione laughed it off. “That’s sweet, really, but no thanks. I’m happy where I am.”

“Alright. Do you know if the Joy Stone has any negative effect on muggles?”

Hermione was very proud of Shacklebolt, then. There weren’t many Ministers who would have even thought of Muggle safety at a time like this. 

Honestly, she replied, “I have no idea, but I’m sure we can find out.”

“I’ll get the Head of Muggle Affairs on it. I’ll make some sort of departmental announcement to ensure everyone’s full cooperation with you on this. The wizarding world comes first, obviously, but if it’s safe to do so, I’d be happy to share it with the muggles too.” A frown crossed his face. “I’m just not sure how we’ll be able to keep them safe. There’s so many of them.”

“I could try making the Stones larger, give them a wider area of effect, then put them in the cities.” Hermione said. “It’ll buy us some time, anyway. Dementors will always go where the population is thickest.” 

“Wouldn’t the muggles notice? They’re not exactly normal looking, are they?”

“You could pass it off as an art installation.” Hermione suggested. “Muggles will put up with anything, no matter how odd it looks, as long as it’s art.”

Shacklebolt laughed, and offered her his hand to shake. 

“Kingsley?” Hermione asked. “I think you meant that you’re going to give an Order of Merlin to both of us. Lucius was the one who came up with it, remember? He’s the one who turned the Joy Stone from a shield into a weapon.”

The Minister barely missed a beat. “Of course.” Kingsley said. “If you’re sure…”

“I’m positive.”

“Well, then. Leave the award ceremony to the Ministry. We’ll hold it after this is all over. People will want something to look forward to.”

Then Kingsley called in his Assistant, and told him what needed to be done.

* * *

While Shacklebolt was organising a full meeting, Hermione took the opportunity to send McGonagall a Howler via the Ministry Floo explaining everything. The Headmistress replied almost straight away. She was very proud and very understanding. She urged Hermione not to worry about a thing, and to focus on getting them all out of this mess. She could organise a substitute Charms Professor for a few weeks, and she could manage Gryffindor. 

Minerva also gave her some wonderful news, which the whole school had anxiously been waiting for. Hannah had gone into labour. Neville had barely gotten her settled down in his rooms before her contractions had started.

As soon as Hermione was done catching up, she and Kingsley got right back to their planning. An assistant brought them a pot of tea. An Auror brought her a plate of chocolate brownies. He took the job very seriously and only shook his head gruffly when she offered him one. 

By then, most of the Ministerial Department Heads had arrived in the office. Kingsley laid the whole thing out in front of them. They were incredulous at first, but she supposed it  _ was  _ incredible news. She had to explain how the Joy Stone worked a few times before they understood it. They didn’t seem to believe that such a difficult problem could be solved so easily. Hermione replied, wryly, that in her experience, many problems had simple solutions. 

Once the Department Heads had gotten over the shock, there were endless details to be hammered out. Having the capacity to kill dementors was one thing, but executing it effectively was another. 

And there  _ were  _ serious problems. How would they ensure that everyone got theirs at the same time, so there wasn’t a panic? If they waited until there was enough for the whole wizarding population of England, how many people might die in the meantime? How were they going to stop children from taking them off? How were they going to stop children from  _ choking  _ on them, for that matter?

Hours later, the meeting was wrapping up when Kingsley’s assistant came in and informed her that a suite had been found for her. The assistant gave her a detailed list of instructions on how to get there, and once she was there, how to get in. 

Hermione knew an opportunity to leave when she saw one. Some of the Department Heads were starting to give her fawning looks; the exact kind she didn’t like. She made her excuses, Kingsley covered for her flawlessly, and she left, fully intending to sequester herself in her new quarters for the remainder of the day. 

Waiting outside the door was Lucius Malfoy. 

He wasn’t alone. Lucius stood talking with a group of half a dozen or so witches and wizards, a couple of whom she recognised, but most she didn’t. Judging by the way they held themselves and their mode of dress, they were all either extremely important or at least  _ thought  _ they were. 

Lucius bid them a polite but firm farewell and fell into step beside her. 

“Hermione.” He said, as a greeting. “How was your meeting with the Minister?”

He hadn’t just been in that hallway by coincidence. He had been waiting for her to come out. “Not bad.” She said, happy for him to work for it. 

_ Up the stairs, past the unicorn statue, turn left… _ Hermione recited the directions to herself as they went, and Lucius kept pace with her. 

“Lucius, you should still be in bed.”

He huffed, and sent her an amused glance. “I assure you, if my recovery wasn’t complete, Madame Pomfrey would never have let me out of her sight. That woman guards her patients like a dragon guards her eggs. Now, don’t distract me. Am I to assume, then, that you gave away that creation of yours? That priceless solution to all our problems?”

“Actually, I did. Everyone has the right to be safe from dementors. I bet you think I should have sold it to the highest bidder?”

“Of course not. It is slow going, Hermione Granger, but I am starting to understand you. You truly are remarkable.”

She stopped dead in her tracks and turned to face him. She didn’t know what to say to that. More than anyone else she had ever known, Lucius Malfoy had a way of being so honest that it took her completely off guard. 

“I thought you were amazing, back in the Forest.” She said, not giving herself a chance not to say the words aloud. They needed to be said. What he had done was heroism. He had saved their lives. 

Hermione had hoped that, with their victory in the War, she would never  _ need  _ that sort of bravery again. She’d never been drawn to adventure in the way that some of her friends had been. A life of academic excellence, preferably coupled with a thriving career, would have been enough for her. But when danger had come, he’d been right there with her. 

She could never forget that. 

Lucius only snorted. “Indeed. The greatest deed of my life, and I can hardly remember a thing.”

“You saved my life.” Hermione said. “I wouldn’t have been able to hold them all off if you hadn’t used the Stone the way you had. I would never have thought of giving into it like that.” 

“Do you think so? As I recall, you put yourself at risk to give me the Stone. Deliberately sacrificed yourself for me, one might say.” 

He said that as if it had come as a surprise to him. 

She tried. Her breath was short and sharp in her chest, but she refused to be a coward. 

She could hardly look him in the eye. “There’s no need to be so dramatic, Lucius.” She tried to laugh; the sound was brassy and hollow. “I had no intentions of sacrificing myself. Our odds of survival went up if we fought together, that’s all. You’re a great wizard. Helping you survive was a tactical necessity.” 

Oh dear. Had that made any sense at all? So…  _ cold _ . That hadn’t been how she meant it. All she wanted to do was help him understand. She had to let him know how special he was. She had to try to show Lucius the Lucius  _ she  _ saw.

Lucius had stopped walking to look her full in the face. He didn’t seem angry. Or upset. He seemed… thoughtful. Almost… excited? As if he was on the verge of understanding something immeasurably complex. 

They took one another in for a while. Hermione felt something very important begin to dawn on her. 

Lucius Malfoy was  _ not  _ her friend.

Ginny and Harry were her friends. Tiberius and Wilhemina were her friends. And then there was him. Lucius Malfoy was something  _ other.  _ Not an enemy, not a friend, certainly not family. An ally? Certainly. But he was more than that, wasn’t he? 

She had no idea when it had started. How long had she been setting him apart? He was… special. An unknown factor in her life. Someone she had begun to seek out, to trust as she had never trusted anyone. 

Knowing that, how did it make her feel? Daunted? Excited? Very, very nervous? 

All three at once. 

She wasn’t going to get carried away, though. After what they had just been through, she just wasn’t in any sort of position to make any long term decisions. She had almost  _ died.  _ She didn’t need to get swept up in her emotions. What she really needed was to have a long, calm think about a few things. 

“Well, well, well.” Lucius said. His lips curved in the beginnings of a smile. Reptilian, and yet  _ warm.  _ How did he do that? “Isn’t this interesting?” 

Hermione decided that she didn’t like his knowing expression very much. Just because there was a chance that he might be right, didn’t mean he got to gloat about it like that. 

“You’ve been called by the Ministry to work on brewing up the Peace Potions and the Tinctured Joy, haven’t you?” Hermione asked, forcing her thoughts onto safer paths. For now. 

“Of course. As has every British potioneer capable of brewing so much as a salve for sunburn.”

“Well, that means I’m in charge of you. Get back to work.”

Hermione watched him as she said it, hoping to gauge his reaction. A small part of her, which was maybe a little bit frightened of the immensity of what she’d just realised, had been hoping that he might pull away from her. She was disappointed to see that he only looked at her in a way that was both warm and affectionate. 

She brandished her scowl at him and he retreated, laughing. 

He might well laugh. Hermione knew that she had crossed a boundary she could not turn back from. 

The only question left was what she was to do about it. 

* * *

The aurors squinted at her and Hermione stared at them, unblinking.

“Password.” One of them said, and she scoffed. 

“Password.” He said again. His hand went for his wand. Apparently he was serious. Hermione had thought the whole thing was a joke, but apparently Kingsley had been telling the truth. She supposed she should have seen it coming. She heard Moody’s constant refrain,  _ vigilance, vigilance, vigilance!  _ in her head, and smiled fondly. It was nice to know that Kingsley hadn’t forgotten his old Order days. 

“Snorlac.” She said, and the two aurors stepped aside, letting her into her Ministry office. 

The room was easily twice as big as a Department Head would normally be expected to have. Bookshelves lined the walls. A cursory scan showed that all the books were related to dementors, the banishing of non-corporeal beings, or wizarding medicine. A large desk of fine wood and a tall chair sat in front of a wide window of an illusory landscape, letting in sunlight she knew was not real. Aside from a quill and a stack of parchment, the desk was bare. 

The room was very cold. Not in terms of temperature, but everything else about it. There were none of the personal touches or ornaments that would soften such a place, and their absence only accentuated the great yawning space of the room. It reminded her uncomfortably of her parent’s waiting room. Except where her parents had made some effort to put their patients at ease, everything here was a calculated show of power, designed to intimidate. Did Shacklebolt have so little faith in her ability to lead, or was this his attempt at giving her a compliment? 

If it was, it was a failure. 

It also felt distinctly like a prison. She wasn’t an idiot. She noticed how these rooms happened to be extremely close to the Auror department, right at the end of a maze-like series of twists and turns. Logically, having her in such a defensible position made perfect sense. Emotionally, though, it was stifling. Painfully claustrophobic. 

Hermione missed her office at Hogwarts already. She decided to ask Grubbly-Plank to look after Crookshanks while she was away. She had planned to go back to collect him, but she knew he wouldn’t like it here. Atlas was a different story, though. The snobby bird would probably love it. It would suit his sense of self-importance. Sadly, if Crookshanks wasn’t coming, it would probably be best for the owl to remain where he was. 

The office had several rooms adjoining to it. Hermione’s old habits came to the fore and she investigated. One door led to a room with a stout work-table. At either end of the table was a large barrel. A quick check revealed that they were filled with water. Heavy aprons and dragonhide gloves hung up on the walls next to a very detailed array of charts. On the far side of the room was a row of cupboards filled with all sorts of spellmaking paraphernalia and potion ingredients. Hermione gave a satisfied nod. A perfectly appointed Charms workshop. 

Along the right side of the office there was a little passageway that led to a bedroom. A gorgeous four-poster bed dominated most of the space. The duvet was crimson threaded with gold. There was a stone fireplace and an old oak wardrobe. Aside from that, the room was empty. Evidently, they expected her to fall right into bed after working. They were probably right. 

This would do. Whether it suited her tastes or not, she wasn’t here to have fun. She was here to work. Kingsley had been nice about it, and he and the rest of the Department Heads had gone out of their way to flatter and praise her, but she knew this for what it was. She wasn’t a guest; she was a worker. A resource. 

What Hermione wanted was no longer a priority. She had important work to be doing. 

* * *

As it turned out, being in charge of Joy Stone production was strange work indeed. 

Kingsley had been sincere when he’d told her that she could pick her own team. Hermione had written to just about every skilled Charms witch and wizard in Britain that she thought might come. Hermione was shocked, and very, very pleased, to receive confirmation from all of them within a few hours.

Most importantly of all, perhaps, was the fact that Flitwick could make it. He’d come first. By sheer dumb luck, he’d already been in London. 

Hermione scheduled her first meeting of the Emergency Ministerial Charms Department for later that morning. Flitwick had wanted to get into it straight away, but she’d insisted on at least catching up over a cup of tea first. 

She was glad that she had. Flitwick was guilt stricken over their failure with the barrier. He was also determined to ‘make up for it’ by helping her fine-tune the Joy Stone. He listened to what Lucius had accomplished with bemused pride. 

“A strange boy, that one.” Flitwick said. “I taught him and worked with him at Hogwarts, but I never quite understood him. Has he explained how he was able to do what he did? Your Joy Stone is a wonderful invention, Hermione, I couldn’t be prouder, but it shouldn’t have been able to kill dementors.”

Beaming at his praise, Hermione shook her head. “He doesn’t remember a thing.” 

The little old wizard sighed. “So he says. Do you believe him?”

“I do, actually.” Hermione said. 

The little wizard seemed surprised, but nodded. “Well, if you’re sure.” They filled up the rest of the time with talk of the Joy Stone until everyone else started trickling in. 

Tiberius was right on time, of course. He was unique amongst those she’d invited in because he wasn’t much of a Charms wizard, but his abilities and experience as an inventor made him an obvious choice. She only hoped that she could focus his incredible gifts on the subject of the Joy Stone. 

He shook hands with her as he came into the room. 

“Have you seen Lucius?” He asked worriedly. “He left the Infirmary as soon as Pomfrey gave him leave. Terribly dangerous, in no fit state to cast a Patronus-”

That was  _ exactly  _ the sort of talk Hermione didn’t need to hear right now. She shushed Tiberius, assured him that she was fine and that Lucius could handle himself, and ushered him to the chair by her side. 

Next came Brian Wu. As Head of the British Duelling team, his presence had been one of the ones Hermione had been most anxious to secure. He came with Padma and Parvarti in tow; a welcome addition. 

Shortly after, Anthea Dawlish, ostensibly the owner of the Diagon Alley magical supply shop ‘Charmed, Actually’. Her Charms knowledge was exceptional, of course. Unofficially, Anthea was also known for her remarkable ability to procure rare, even illegal, items in a short space of time. Hermione had a feeling that she would come in handy. 

There were others. Aurors whom Head Auror Robards had kindly agreed to spare. Hogwarts graduates from years past who had particularly excelled at Charms. All in all, three dozen witches and wizards. Together, they’d have to find a way to make the Joy Stone viable for mass production. Hermione fully intended to have a Joy Stone in the hands of every person alive by the time this was done. 

She would leave organising the finer details of distribution and funding to Kingsley. All she had to do was make it possible in the first place. They couldn’t have people rolling around on the ground, insensible from close proximity to the Stone.

Starting to grow impatient… Hermione tapped the table. Where  _ were  _ they? The meeting was about to start, and two people were still missing.

“Sorry I’m late!” A tall, imposing woman in robes said as she bustled into the room, taking her seat.

Violetta Heartstring, Chief Librarian at the Ministry. She represented perhaps the broadest array of magical knowledge in Britain. It was practically impossible to tear her away from her books, and in hindsight Hermione had to admit that it wasn’t a surprise that she was late. 

George Weasley arrived before the door had even swung shut behind her. Hermione rolled her eyes at his top hat and vest-watch, but still rose to embrace him. 

“Morning, everyone.” George said, kissing her on the cheek. “Thanks for inviting me. Bloody brilliant work killing those dementors, Hermione.”

Smiling, she said, “Let’s see if we can finish the job, shall we?” 

“I fail to see why  _ he  _ is here.” Anthea sniffed. The fact that he’d stolen half her customers probably had something to do with that. 

Before Hermione could say a word, Brian Wu, head of the British Duelling Team said, “I’ve seen those inventions of yours, Mr Weasley. Clever work.” 

“Well, now that we’re all here, I want to thank you all for coming.” Hermione said. Everyone quietened down at once. God, she hated things like this.  _ Pretend it’s like a class. Only these students are more like co-workers, and most of them are also much older than you.  _ “You were all briefed before you came here, I believe, about the potential of the Joy Stone?”

She floated a set of binders to all of them. They flipped through the packets at varying rates of speed. She gave them a minute to absorb surface knowledge before continuing. They would have plenty of time to study later.

“As far as I can tell, the reason the Joy Stone worked differently for Lucius is because he didn’t try to resist it’s effects at all. Almost as soon as he held it, the Stone started shining, which  _ definitely  _ isn’t normal. I can only assume that the amount of happiness the Stone could generate was compounded by his reaction to it, until it reached a point where it could kill dementors.”

Tiberius was doodling on his pages. Hermione almost said something, then saw that it wasn't doodles at all. It was arithmancy. But what was he trying to predict? Possible outcomes of using different charms? It was impossible to say without hovering over his shoulder, but Hermione made a mental note to ask him later.

She saw the others were doing similar things. Padma and Parvarti were whispering very quietly to one another, pointing at different sections of the papers in front of them. Anthea was looking thoughtful as she read the section on the physical makeup of the stone. 

Hermione’s cheeks grew warm with pride. This could work. 

George had flipped to the last page and was frowning. She could guess why. There, she’d laid out the problems with the Joy Stone in meticulous detail. 

“I’m sure you’ve also heard about it’s… deficiencies. As you can see, I’ve had some ideas as to how we could replicate what Lucius did, but without the dangers. If you’ll all turn to the last page…? Thank you. Now, I want your honest opinions. This is too important to get wrong...”

* * *

Less than twenty-four hours later, Hermione presented Kingsley with her revised schematic and user instructions for the Joy Stone. He approved it, and informed her that a massive section of the Ministry budget and resources were going straight to her project. As an inventor, she felt overwhelmingly proud, but on a personal level, Hermione was nervous. She had made many creations, but nothing on this scale before. It was a daunting prospect.

Her final, most important request, was much harder to get approved. Hermione wanted to make a Joy Stone under the new specifications and test it on a dementor herself. 

Kingsley  _ really  _ dug in his heels over that one. 

“But how do we know it works if I can’t  _ test it?”  _ Hermione asked, insistent.

“I completely agree that it needs to be tested. But  _ not by you _ , Hermione. You are far too important to risk.”

“Kingsley, I need to be there, whether it works or fails. It happened so  _ quickly. _ This time, I need to be sure I understand what happens.”

They argued this way for about half an hour until Kingsley finally threw his hands up in the air and saw reason. 

Hermione went into the streets of London the next morning. 

She didn’t go alone. Following at a suitable distance were a team of Aurors, including Harry himself. They watched the area around her like hawks. 

Hermione held the Joy Stone in her pocket. It was behaving itself, thank Merlin. Hermione reached her destination; a rundown muggle hospice, sat down on the steps, and waited. 

She might as well have remained standing. A swarm of dementors descended upon her before she’d taken off her gloves. Keeping her breath slow and even, she lifted up the Stone.

The Joy Stone began to sing, and the dementors died. As before, they left no trace behind. Hermione felt nothing more than a perfectly acceptable amount of relief, happiness, and pride, given the situation. 

The Aurors stared at her, flabbergasted. All except Harry who raced up to her, whooping and cheering. 

He pulled her into a hug that squeezed the air right out of her. “I  _ knew it _ ! I knew you’d do it.” 

Hermione grinned. She knew she was still glowing, but it would fade soon. “Thanks, Harry.”

* * *

And so, the Joy Stones went into mass production. It was tedious work, though not overly complex. She had been correct about the time; it only took about fifteen minutes to make one once they had everything ready. However, they were trying to supply all of wizarding Britain, which meant that their work was never truly over. One by one the Joy Stones piled up, until there were stacks on stacks of them.

They did this over and over, day after day, until Hermione was thoroughly sick of making Joy Stones. She had never thought she would grow tired of making one of her inventions. 

The charms were only half of the process of Joy Stone creation, of course. For the rest, there was Lucius.

No-one actually appointed him the head of the Emergency Ministerial Potioneers, he just sort of assumed the position naturally. His proximity to Hermione might have had something to do with it. His title and bloodline, too. But while all of that certainly played its part, Hermione thought it might have come down to his new fame as the first wizard to have ever killed a dementor. 

She would wake up every morning to letters reporting his progress. Estimates for that day's output of Peace Potion and Tinctured Joy. The occasional supply issue. Lucius was methodical and hardworking, and though her demands (Kingsley’s demands, really) were frequently downright unreasonable, he did very well. 

The letters weren’t just about his quota, though. Lucius was having a great deal of trouble in managing the potioneers. Hermione knew she had been lucky there; Charms witches and wizards usually worked together quite well. Lucius likened it, on more than one occasion, to trying to herd cats. Many of the potioneers were exceptionally talented witches and wizards, and some were world-class, but they were nearly impossible to convince to work together. Lucius frequently complained that, if left alone for more than five minutes, they would brew a Peace Potion any other way than the way he had asked them to do it. 

He would send her little samples, with notes attached. 

To one flagon of peace potion;  _ Here, Ismelda has done it again, twice as strong as regulations allow for, but I thought it might be useful in some of the great Joy-Stones I have heard talk of putting up in the muggle cities. Take care when you open it; the fumes alone could put a troll to sleep.  _

And on a little note attached to a cardboard box;  _ It was good to see you this morning, frankly I fear that you were the only voice of reason during that whole blasted meeting. I must stress the warning I gave you yesterday; be sure to wear your dragonhide gloves when you open up today’s shipment , otherwise I fear when I shall see you tomorrow you may still be laughing.  _

She had let the subject of her feelings for him lie. She just didn’t know quite what to make of it, yet. She buried herself in work instead, but the matter was still there. 

He never brought it up, and she got the distinct impression that he was leaving it up to her to decide where they would go from here. 

* * *

Hermione sat at the Potter’s dining room table. She waited patiently for Ginny to finish drawing their tea. When she did, she handed a cup to Hermione. The young inventor was surprised to see how… frazzled, Ginny looked. It was understandable given everything that was going on in the world, but it was rare for Ginny to appear so out of sorts.

Suddenly, Hermione realized that she was alone.

Hadn’t the whole point been that they were all meant to be having dinner together? Where were Amelia and Harry? 

“Where’s Amelia?” Hermione asked, then immediately regretted how harsh she sounded. Ginny would  _ never  _ leave Amelia unattended. 

“She’s with Ron and Harry,” Ginny said quietly, eyes on her tea. The implication was clear; both Ron and Harry could cast the Patronus. Amelia would be safe with them. 

Ginny hesitated, and a tormented look came over her before she went on, “Hermione, I needed to talk to you in private. I wouldn’t ask. But the Joy Stones… Harry says there aren’t enough to go around yet, and we’ll have to wait our turn. Help us.” 

“Help you… how?”

Ginny said nothing, but her eyes fell down to the table, and Hermione realised what she meant.

Ginny… Ginny was asking her to get a- no, Ginny was asking her to  _ steal  _ a Joy Stone. 

In a situation with only unfair choices, the Ministry had chosen the one that seemed to be the least awful; the first Joy Stones had been assigned to important people. Not Purebloods or the wealthy, necessarily, but to people who were crucial to running the country during the crisis. 

The muggle Prime Minister and his Cabinet had been the first to be given them, though they’d been pretty ungrateful about it. Shacklebolt and his Heads of Department were prioritised too, of course. Hermione had kept hers (once it had been upgraded to the current, side-effect free model, of course) and Lucius had been given one of his own, since he was crucial to the potioneering effort. Aurors got them, which only made sense, since they were the ones who would have to do most of the work confronting the dementors. Judges got them. Most of the staff at St Mungos had been given one, and the rest would be covered by the next batch. 

It wasn’t a perfect system. It was also the best that they could do. 

Stealing at Joy Stone was, by Ministerial decree, an offence that would get you a lifetime sentence in Azkaban. The Ministry statement had been something like,  _ ‘Your chances of getting attacked by a Dementor are, at current rates, less likely than falling off a broom and breaking your leg. But if you steal a Joy Stone, you’ll never see daylight again.’ _

Even so, people had tried it, and the Ministry had made good on their threat. 

Ginny must have seen her reluctance, she waved her hands in a panic. “It wouldn’t be for me. I can cast the patronus. It’s Amelia, Hermione. I can’t sleep at night. I need to know she’ll be safe if something happens to me and Harry.”

Hermione’s heart twisted. She wanted to help. It was wrong, it was illegal, but she found that that didn’t matter to her anywhere near as much as it should. This was her god-child they were talking about. 

Even so, it just wasn’t possible. She would be caught, and that would be the end of it. 

“I can’t do that, Ginny. The Joy Stones are Ministry property. They’re all inventoried. I couldn’t even give her  _ mine,  _ Ginny. They check on it every day.” 

Just as she said it, something stirred in the back of her mind. Yes, the Joy Stones were all inventoried, but what if she could make one without anyone knowing? Was it possible? All the ingredients and components for the Joy Stones were strictly controlled. 

Hermione had a funny feeling she might know someone who would have their own private store of potions ingredients. Someone with the moral ‘flexibility’ required  _ and  _ the abilities to pull it off. 

To attempt it in the Ministry would be idiocy. Too many prying eyes. When they were back at Hogwarts, though… There might be a way. 

Ginny was stricken, but tried to force a smile. “Yeah, that’s what Harry said. But I thought-”

The redhead went silent, and Hermione reached across the table to take her hand and give it a comforting squeeze. “I might have an idea. I’ll let you know, okay? Keep your chin up, Ginny.”

Ginny nodded her head gratefully. “ _ Thank  _ you, Hermione. I knew you would come through for us.”

* * *

Harry leaned over his broom. 

Looking down, he could see that about five thousand feet below them was the North American dementor breeding ground. The Ministry thought it might be the single largest concentration of dementors in the world. Their target. 

For someone with excellent vision, which Harry certainly did not have, it would be possible to see the first eddies of dementor fog swirling beneath them. If they squinted. 

Somewhere on his left, he heard a bit of nervous laughter as they passed through a low-hanging cloud. Cho, probably. It was her first time up this high. He gave the signal to form up. 

Ten Aurors converged on him. Harry had chosen each one of them personally. They all had varying degrees of experience in the Auror department. Time spent as a proper Auror wasn’t what mattered to him, though. In all honesty, while Aurors saw some horrible things, Harry didn’t think anything could really prepare a person for this. What they shared was their dedication and bravery. Most important of all was their flying ability. 

“Just like we did it in practice, everyone.” Harry said in a soothing voice. “Joy Stones at the ready.”

He needn’t have bothered. They were all holding their Stones in their off-hand. 

“We know what to do. In ten minutes, the main team will apparate right into the middle of them and start using their Joy Stones. That’ll finish most of them, but some of the dementors will get away. That’s where we come in. We swoop down and go for the ones trying to escape. Those of you who are cleared for mid-flight apparition can do it, but only if you’re sure the dementor will get away otherwise. I don’t want anyone taking any more risks than what we have to.”

Everyone nodded. They understood. 

Another minute dragged by. 

Cormac looked down at the swirling mist below. “Feels almost cruel, doesn’t it?”

“What they did to that muggle family in Dartford was cruel, McLaggen.” Harry said. “This is just being careful.”

Harry checked his team over. They were worried, but ready. They hadn’t exactly had a lot of notice, but they’d trained as diligently as he ever could have hoped for. 

He checked his wand, not that he’d need it, if all went well. His Joy Stone was already in his hand. He didn’t need both hands to steer his broom anymore. His glasses were firmly stuck to his head with magic. 

On his wrist, his watch vibrated. Once. Hearing the noise, his team’s eyes were fixed on him. Twice. Harry held his breath. 

Three times. 

Harry muttered, “Here we go.” 

And dove.

  
  


* * *

As was often the case in innumerable powerful institutions all over the world, most of the work got done in the women’s bathrooms. 

Heads of Departments, under-secretaries, judges, Inquisitors, and numerous high officials were there. Some of them were just socialising, of course. Many of them were scheming. Hermione had it on good authority that a sort of unofficial Treasury meeting was being held in the sauna. 

On a pool chair by the deep end, Hermione lounged in a modest bikini with a plate of sandwiches in her lap. It was practically impossible  _ not  _ to lounge in the Ministry baths. It was the sort of place where just breathing in the air seemed to revitalise you. After the few weeks she’d had, she needed it. She hadn’t come here to work. She’d finally taken Kingsley’s advice and come here to  _ relax _ . 

Being the Ministry, the ‘bathrooms’ in question were baths in the Roman sense. Great pools with tile and mosaic lined with marble columns, and spouts made of silver, enchanted for prosperity and good health. 

There was one for men, one for women, and one that was mixed. Hermione preferred the one for women only, for obvious reasons. Seeing such important, venerable witches in their towels and swimsuits was already strange enough. She didn’t want to see any elderly wizards so undressed.

_ Although… Seeing Lucius in swimming trunks wouldn’t be so bad… _

Hermione cut that thought  _ right  _ off. 

Not so far away, a group of particularly prominent witches had gathered near the edge of the pool. Snatches of their conversation reached her, in between the general ambient sounds of splashing and laughter. 

“-heard that Lucius Malfoy is getting an  _ Order of Merlin? _ They’ll give one to anyone, these days.”

Hermione went cold, then very,  _ very  _ warm. 

“I suppose he bribed his way in. How do you think all these Joy Stones got funded in the first place?”

“Isn’t he running the show, though? As far as the potions go?”

“Please. He probably bribed his way into that position as well. It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest. He  _ is  _ a Malfoy, after all. Granger did all the work, he gets credit. Tale as old as time.”

There was laughter at this. Hermione fought to keep her temper under control. She lost. 

“Lucius  _ did  _ come up with it.” She told them. Her tone brooked no argument, and they seemed a bit stunned by her reaction. “The Joy Stone could only hold them back, until he used it. He was the catalyst for what they are today. I was there. Are you calling me a liar?”

Inquisitor Beatrice wet her lips and said, “Professor. We only meant-”

Hermione didn’t want to hear it. She wanted them out of her sight. “Everyone in this Ministry is working hard to help our country. Why don’t you all find something better to do than gossip about the man who saved your lives?”

The shocked looks they gave her would have mollified her in any other situation. How dare they? They still didn’t believe her, she knew. All she’d done was frighten them. 

Hermione was so angry, so upset, that the note she scribbled to Lucius later that night was a disorganised ramble. 

_ Lucius,  _

_ I don’t know if you’ve heard what people are saying. They’re trying to say that what you did with the Joy Stone was my idea. Lucius, I  _ **_told_ ** _ Kingsley the truth, I told people about it today, but no-one is listening. They think you’re making it up.  _

_ We should announce it publicly. Maybe get a meeting with the Prophet? We need to make them listen! _

Hermione knew the hours Lucius kept. The hours that Kingsley (and her) deadlines forced him to keep. So she wasn’t surprised when his reply came long after most people would have started getting ready for bed. 

The letter was written on beautiful, textured parchment, and enclosed with his seal. He’d never done so on the rare occasions he’d written to her at Hogwarts, but she’d seen it often enough since working together at the Ministry to know it by sight. A dragon, and not the majestic, fantastical kind. This one was all lines and teeth. 

Tearing it open, she read.

_ Hermione,  _

_ I forget how anathema gossip is to you. The rumours you are talking about were commonplace a week ago. There will be no convincing them now. Why would they believe something heroic of me when they could believe something ordinary for you? _

_ It is my own fault, at least in part. I might have… exaggerated the size of the Dementor pack that we destroyed in the Forest.  _

_ Please do not concern yourself with this. What we have achieved is enough in itself.  _

She replied almost immediately with,  _ We’ll go to the Prophet and tell them the truth. The second this is all over. The last thing the wizarding world needs right now is a media circus.  _

His reply was short, and not long in coming.  _ As you say.  _

* * *

Days later, Hermione was cleared to return to Hogwarts by Kingsley. They had reached the point in production where they no longer needed her there physically. Elated, she wasted no time in packing up her things. She made for Hogwarts with all speed. She had already missed  _ weeks  _ of term.

Once she had gotten her belongings back in her room, she made for the Great Hall. She didn’t bother with unpacking, but she took the time to change her clothes.

Outside of the Great Hall she ran into Lucius, who appeared to have been waiting for her. He wore his usual dark robes, but on his breast he wore a heavy silver pin. It was in the shape of a roaring dragon, which clutched a white stone in its powerful hind claws. The stone was sheathed in glass and carved into a perfect sphere. His personal Joy Stone. She should have known that Lucius, of all people, would turn a necessity into a fashion statement. 

She turned to go in, and he held her back with a gentle shake of his head. 

“Hermione, allow this old man to impart one piece of wisdom.” He said.

“And what’s that?” She asked, thinking  _ you’re not old.  _

He offered her his arm with quiet grace. She took it. 

His gaze took hers and held it. “Always make an entrance.”

The doors opened. Hermione Granger and Lucius Malfoy stepped into the Great Hall. 

Ear splitting applause. The children whooped and leapt up from their seats to clap for them, the older ones as well as the first years. She had never heard anything like it. 

The pressure was overwhelming. Hundreds of eyes on her. She might have wilted, but for the voice in her ear saying, “So modest. You saved their lives. They are only paying you your due.”

She wanted to say something to this, but they were already gliding forward. 

At the far table, the staff were standing up. Tiberius was a little teary eyed, which was ridiculous, as he’d only seen her last week. Grubbly-Plank was smiling in quiet satisfaction. Hagrid was clapping his great hands with a sound like thunder. He was weeping for joy.

As they took their seats, a lull fell over the Hall. The students were watching her expectantly. 

Without moving his lips, Lucius said, “I believe they are waiting for you, Hermione.”

The way he said her name made her pulse quicken in her throat. 

“Waiting for me-? To do what?” She whispered.

“Make a speech, I expect.” He said, still not moving his lips. “That is generally what returning heroes do.”

Hermione sent him a panicked look out of the corner of her eye, trying to communicate without words how utterly terrifying that idea was to her. 

“Ah. Well, why not let me handle this, hm?” 

She nodded imperceptibly, and before she could think better of it, Lucius stood up. 

He proceeded to give a speech so thrilling, so moving, that Hermione didn’t realise that she should probably be cross with him until he was almost done. Hermione knew he must have experience in this sort of thing. He had been involved with the Ministry, after all. But this was obviously not an off the cuff speech. He must have come here ready to make a scene. 

He finished to thunderous applause. 

Headmistress McGonagall said to them, under her breath, “I was going to welcome the two of you, but it would seem that Professor Malfoy felt the need to take matters into his own hands.” 

This reprimand was totally ignored by Lucius. The Malfoy sat in a state of perfect composure, but Hermione could feel how pleased he was. He was in his element. 

She couldn’t begrudge him for it. Given everything, it was the least that he deserved. 

“I need to speak to you.” Hermione said, under her breath. “Alone. Be in your office at eight o’clock.”

He did not move, nor give any indication that he had heard her. 

Smart. Subterfuge was his specialty, after all. 

_ Lucius Malfoy… You are pretty cool.  _

* * *

Hermione slipped on her invisibility cloak. 

She’d made this one herself, back in the months after the War. Harry’s Invisibility Cloak had been incredibly useful to them in the fight against Voldemort, and making one of her own seemed imperative at the time. This would be the first time she had used it for anything other than an experiment. 

It was just the right length for her with a deep hood and long sleeves. As well as the basics, she’d also charmed it to muffle her footsteps and resist basic Deshrouding spells, though it would never be as good as  _ the  _ Invisibility Cloak. It was properly registered with the Ministry, of course. 

She went down the stairs and into the dungeons, praying that Peeves wouldn’t find her and make things difficult. Fortunately, she saw no-one except Slytherins, and they were too busy celebrating to take notice of her. 

Before long, she stood before the green door with its silver-dragon knocker. She gave it a rap. 

Lucius opened the door and peered out into the corridor. He was dressed in black trousers and a white shirt, his hair tied into a loose ponytail. 

Oddly, as he took in the empty corridor, he gave a nervous chuckle, and Hermione realised she hadn’t taken off the cloak yet. 

“Mr Rosier?” He called out. “You won’t fool me. I know all about your little bet with the sixth years. You won’t frighten me this time.”

What? Had… had the students been  _ pranking  _ Lucius? And… was it working? 

Very gently, Hermione said, “Lucius, it’s me, Hermione.”

Lucius jumped about a foot in the air and went deathly pale, only calming himself slightly as Hermione slowly took off the cloak, trying not to make any sudden moves. 

“Hermione-! Merlin, woman, what do you think you’re doing?”

Hermione stared suggestively at the doorway, saying nothing. Finally, he stepped aside to let her through. 

The office was a mixture of dark woods and somber velvets. It was also about twice the size of her own, with a double fireplace, a vintage sofa and chairs with a long low table between them, and a drink cabinet. Like her, Lucius had a chalkboard, though his was covered with a sort of running tally of potions ingredients and student grades. 

Over the fireplace hung a beautiful landscape painting. A pond in a forest clearing, with a table and chairs set for tea. It had the look of a magical portrait, but it was uninhabited. 

Was this meant to be his office? It looked more like a parlour. It didn’t look at all like the sort of place a person could actually get work done in. She supposed she should have expected that. 

Hermione said, “I’m here, just as I said I would be.”

Lucius just gave her a blank look, and she went further. “Remember? I told you I needed to talk to you tonight? In the Great Hall? After you made your speech?”

“Hermione, I assure you, this is entirely a pleasant surprise to me. I had no idea you were going to be coming.”

Oh. Perhaps he hadn’t heard her after all? She had assumed he had just been acting. The Great Hall had been pretty loud, and she had been trying to be subtle...

“Never mind.” Lucius said, remembering his manners and taking the cloak from her to hang it by the door. “Let us have tea while we talk, at least.” 

He gestured for her to take the sofa while he sorted out the tea, laying it down between them 

“I thought… well, I thought that if anyone would be able to help, it would be you.” 

“Why me?” 

“Lucius.” Hermione said in a no-nonsense tone. “I’d bet my Pensive that you have a secret stash of potion ingredients.”

Lucius’s gaze fell down to his cup, and he considered. Hermione waited, and held her breath.

“Hermione.” He said carefully, his thumb brushing on the lid of his cup. “What you are asking is, under the new laws of this government, a very serious crime.” 

“Yes.”

He opened his mouth, then closed and stood up. Without saying a word, he went over to his drinks cabinet. His back was to her, but she heard the sound of clinking, and then he returned with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. 

He poured them both a couple fingers of whiskey. Hermione noted that it was the muggle kind, and gratefully accepted. She took a sip and found it surprisingly mild, with only a pleasant burn on the way down. Was that because she’d gotten used to firewhisky, or had he chosen a gentler vintage?

Lucius took a slow sip, his grey eyes never leaving her face. “Hermione Granger,” He said slowly, prompting a blush from her. Why did her full name sound so strange coming from him? “You must know I would help you with this regardless. But if you really want my help making this Joy Stone of yours, I would ask a favour in return…” He didn’t finish the sentence. 

In the space of his dramatic pause, Hermione supplied, “One for Draco and Scorpius? Done.”

He seemed almost disappointed. “So easily? I know you and Draco have… history.” 

“He was a complete prat to me for years, yes.” 

Wisely, Lucius didn’t contradict her. “Then why?”

“They’re your family, Lucius. I know you’d do anything for them.” 

He leaned forward and clinked glasses with her.

“Then we have an agreement. Three Joy Stones, and we tell no-one.”

That was pretty obvious, wasn’t it? Hermione arched an eyebrow at him, and he stood. 

“Are you sure?” She asked. She’d been hoping they would get started immediately, but hadn’t wanted to ask. She didn’t want to push him into doing this before he was ready. 

Lucius smirked. “Why wait?”

* * *

The potions classroom was just as she’d remembered it from when they’d brewed the Ascension together. 

As it turned out, Lucius already had enough Peace Potions ready, and they only had to make the Tinctured Joy. 

It turned out that even without the light of the torches, the room was well lit. The stones and powders in the glass cabinets shone in their myriad of gentle lights, and the moon-disks and sun-lamps towards the back of the room were deceptively bright. 

Lucius strode across the classroom and uncovered a great distiller with a flourish. 

Hermione rolled her eyes, prompting a laugh from him. A wave of her wand filled it with water. The distiller was tall enough that Lucius had to stand at the top of a step-ladder to reach the opening at the top. 

Tinctures were simple in their creation. This one didn’t even take long to reach its full potency. But the ingredients list was  _ long.  _ Joy came in a thousand shapes and flavours, after all. A properly made Tinctured Joy captured as many of them as possible. 

Hermione started passing the ingredients up to Lucius. Blossoms from a Singing Tree. A book that had never been read. A jar of laughter. Great armfuls of dandelions, daisies, and sunflowers. They had to be floated up, and Lucius absently sniffed them as he lowered them in. 

She should be enjoying herself. She was working alongside Lucius, after all. He was an excellent partner. Instead, she felt only a growing dread. Every time she dwelled on what they were doing, it grew stronger. 

About halfway through, Hermione realised that her hands were shaking. She almost dropped the bag of galleons as she handed it up to him. 

Her frustration with herself was a physical thing. The harder she tried, the more difficult it became to concentrate. She had to keep checking the ingredients list; something she shouldn’t have had to do. She knew this potion like the back of her hand… she’d brewed it herself for her own Joy Stone… 

It was just so  _ stupid.  _ She had broken the law before. The robberies to keep them fed, during the War. Trespassing on private land multiple times, to keep them all sheltered. She had broken into  _ Gringotts _ . 

But… but she’d always put money on the counter when she’d stolen, hadn’t she? And she’d done what she’d done because she’d  _ had  _ to do it. This wasn’t for her own survival, nor even for a greater cause. Yes, she’d done this to protect Amelia, but even there, her motivations were ultimately selfish. 

She loved her god-child more than she cared about doing the right thing. The thought of her coming to harm… Hermione would go to Azkaban until the day she died, if that meant she could keep Amelia safe. 

Somehow, the knowledge only made her feel even worse. 

Lucius noticed and quietly said, “Hermione, I could use another glass of whiskey. Would you mind-”

“No.” She said. He was giving her an out. Trying to be kind. But for her to accept would be rank hypocrisy. This had been her idea. She couldn’t let Lucius take on the whole burden by himself, just because her morality was getting in the way. 

She redoubled her efforts, arranging the citrine goblet and the box of sweets neatly so she could be ready to pass them up to him. 

“Hermione.” Lucius said. 

She lifted up her eyes and faced him. 

“It’s going to be alright.” He looked down at her. His eyes were kind, his voice was soothing. 

It set her at ease enough that she said, “I don’t want to go to Azkaban.”

“You won’t go to Azkaban, Hermione.” Lucius said, shaking his head as he sealed the distiller and climbed down the steps to stand before her. “Everyone knows that Kingsley wants you for his Senior Assistant. That will be hard, even for him, if you have a criminal record.”

That wasn’t very reassuring, but Hermione appreciated the effort nonetheless. 

“Do you have the chalk and glass ready?”

She took them out of her jacket pocket. A minute or so later, they were charmed. All they needed now was the Tincture and the Peace Potion. 

Hermione cracked an immense yawn, barely hiding it behind her elbow in time. 

“Leave the rest to me.” Lucius said. “It will be hours before the Tincture is ready. I won’t have you waiting that long.”

_ But… I wanted to talk to you.  _

Almost against her will, Hermione looked up at the distiller. A faint golden light was starting to coalesce at the top; unlike things with mass, joy always  _ rose _ . By the time it was done, there’d be enough for at least six vials of Tinctured Joy. 

They would only be using enough for three Joy Stones. What about the rest?

Hermione felt the guilt settle on her again. Her shoulders sagged under the weight of it. She knew the answer. They’d have to get rid of it; destroy the evidence. 

“Go.” Lucius said, giving her a gentle push. “I’ll send you the Joy Stone in a few hours.” 

* * *

The next morning, Hermione awoke to cheers and the momentary discomfort of Atlas dropping her morning paper on her face. 

Rubbing her eyes, she put on some decent clothes and went downstairs to investigate. 

It didn’t take long to get an explanation from one of the students racing by. The news had been released to the public. Everyone knew that the North American breeding ground had been broken. Did they realise what that meant? 

Evidently, they at least had some idea. Students embraced one another in the halls. Laughter echoed everywhere. The relief was palpable. 

This joy only increased at the news that classes had been cancelled for the day. A wise move on Minerva’s part. The students would never have been able to get any work done anyway. 

Hermione went back to her room and picked up the paper from where she’d left it on the desk. The headlines screamed;  _ Harry Potter and his team of Aurors destroy dementor breeding grounds! Ministry experts say dementor threat on last legs! Read a harrowing first-hand account from shining star Auror, Cho Chang, on pages 3-8! _

Hermione settled in to read with real delight. 

_ How far we’ve all come.  _

A few hours later, an eagle owl flew in, bearing a small package between its claws. Atlas was furious, his feathers fluffing and ruffling, but let the bird leave once Hermione had removed the package from its leg. 

Hermione didn’t even have to open it. She knew what it was. 

She delivered it in person. It was simply too dangerous to transport over Floo. 

Ginny was ecstatic as she clipped the choker around little Amelia’s neck. The Joy Stone was cleverly hidden by fabric, so it appeared as though the necklace was simply black silk with a matching black velvet centerpiece. No glass or chalk was visible. It was perfectly hidden, sewed in with the sort of expert precision that only magic could accomplish.

“Thank you, Hermione.” There were tears in her eyes. It was evident that she really meant it.

“It wasn’t just me.”

Ginny looked at her oddly, though she continued to smile. 

“What do you mean?”

Hermione decided she could trust Ginny. Besides, even if Ginny tried to expose Lucius’ involvement, no one would ever believe that Lucius Malfoy risked life in Azkaban for Ginny Potter.

“Lucius helped me.”

Ginny looked surprised. “He really has changed, hasn’t he?” She mused, though she looked a little skeptical. “I’ve heard all sorts of interesting things about him.”

“He has,” Hermione said. “But I know that’s hard to accept. The important thing is, Amelia is safe.”

Ginny relaxed, and gave Amelia to Hermione to cuddle and squeeze. 

* * *

The first Friday night after they returned to Hogwarts, she and Lucius went to the Head Club together.

They met at the base of the stairs. 

She wore a tight black dress that covered her from her wrist, to her neck, to her toes. It clung. Around her neck she wore a loose red cloak pinned at the throat with a heavy-cut ruby. It was a strange new style, but one she liked. The modern cut of the dress reminded her of something she might see in muggle London.

She’d bought the outfit with the commission Shacklebolt had bullied her into taking for her work at the Ministry. At the time, she’d justified it by telling herself that looking good for the Head Club was important. It was  _ sort of  _ a work expense. Now she knew that she had bought it because she loved it, and because she hoped Lucius might like it. 

It turned out, he did. He looked her up and down, not with a lecherous eye, but with something bordering on professional interest. She waited as he took it all in. 

His face creased in a smile. “Hermione, you are magnificent.”

He offered her his arm, and together they went to the Astronomy Tower. They took their time. The halls were empty, the night felt… deep. Perhaps it was because she had been gone from Hogwarts for months, but the castle felt particularly special tonight. As if it had been waiting for her to come home. 

They reached the starry portrait and spoke the words together. “We are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided.” And the door swung open. 

They stepped in to the sound of cheers and streamers popping. Though it was only Tiberius and Grubbly-Plank, it turned out the two of them could make a lot of noise when they wanted. Hermione winced as confetti landed in her hair, then smiled as Lucius started fussing over it, picking it out for her. 

Beaming, Tiberius explained, “We thought we would throw our own little celebration for you.” 

A celebration? Hermione had to stifle a grimace. She’d sort of been hoping for a quiet night. She hoped they hadn’t gone overboard. Still, Lucius looked really touched, and how could she refuse Tiberius’ shining, eager face and Wilhemina’s gruff, gentle one? 

It was strange that they were a group of only four, and yet somehow, when they were altogether it felt like a fellowship. Like Dumbledore’s Army had felt. Hermione let herself be pulled into Wilhemina’s embrace. 

As soon as Grubbly-Plank released her, she started scolding Lucius, “... worried sick about you, you silly boy. Went up to the Infirmary to see you, but you were nowhere to be found.”

“Remarkable, simply remarkable! I have mine already, you see-?” Tiberius said, excitedly.

Tiberius showed her his Joy Stone; oval shaped and lovingly worked into a ring. A heron- the symbol of House Flint, she vaguely remembered- had been embossed over the Joy-Stone in silver. The effect was strange, interesting, and not very attractive. 

Grubbly-Plank had chosen something a little more practical, simply wearing it on a short silver chain around her neck. 

“For the pair of you.” Grubbly-Plank said, giving her a brightly wrapped present. Swaddled though it was in layers and layers of wrapping paper and sparkling ribbons, there was no concealing the tell-tale shape of a bottle of alcohol.

_ Merlin, protect me.  _ Hermione’s stomach twinged in protest. She knew they were only trying to be kind, but she’d barely recovered as it was. The night they’d gotten the London Joy Stone working, the Ministry had erupted into a department-wide bender. Kingsley had called it a ‘soiree’ to put a pretty face on it, but Hermione had never drank so much alcohol in her life, and by the time she’d woken up the next morning, half the office had still been going. 

But it  _ was  _ a gift after all, and so she opened it, Lucius watching curiously over her shoulder. She struggled with the final layer of tissue paper and tore it open to reveal-

Hermione stared at it, totally at a loss for words. Then she started laughing. 

Baileys. Tiberius and Wilhemina had gotten them a bottle of Baileys. 

“Is it not suitable?” Tiberius asked, his brow furrowed with worry. “I researched it quite thoroughly, this is a beverage used for celebration amongst muggles. The health benefits, I thought, would be particularly useful to you.”

Hermione gasped out, “It’s just- it’s just not what I expected. I really, really love it.” 

And she did. Aside from the fact that she had never, in her life, expected to be drinking Baileys with such distinguished people, it was a very welcome surprise. To the point that she wasn’t about to tell Tiberius that there was nothing healthy about Baileys in the slightest. 

“I don’t recognise it. Is it champagne?” Lucius said, obviously a little put out that a present that was meant to be for the pair of them was something he didn’t even recognise. 

“Much better.” Hermione promised. “You’re going to love it.”

Hermione conjured up a few glasses and made to pour them all some but Tiberius squawked until she relented and let him do it. 

The others took tentative sips, perhaps fearing the burn of Firewhisky. Hermione knew better and drank the whole glass in one smooth, blissful draught.  _ Tiberius, Wilhelmina, you beautiful, beautiful souls.  _

While Hermione sighed with pure pleasure, Grubbly-Plank was giving her own glass a disapproving frown. “Tiberius, I thought you said this was healthy.”

Tiberius countered, “For two people who have come so close to the dementors I’d say it is. Alcoholic,  _ liquid _ chocolate! What an incredible thing. I have half a mind to send Poppy a few bottles for the Infirmary.”

She and Lucius exchanged mutually amused looks. She was pleased to see that he’d finished his, though he declined when she offered to pour him another. Did Lucius not like sweet things? She realised that she didn’t know, and made a mental note to observe what he ate at meals more closely. 

They had a drink or two, and settled into easy conversation. No-one seemed to want to get really drunk. For now, it was simply enough to be in one another’s company. 

Across the room, Lucius and Tiberius were catching up. It seemed that they had a great deal to catch up on; school gossip, mostly. _How on Earth had those two become friends?_ She’d always assumed that they’d met at Hogwarts when Lucius had joined the staff over a year ago, but Hermione felt reasonably sure their friendship went further back than that. And yet, their age difference made it impossible that they could have been at Hogwarts together as students. Hermione made up her mind to ask them about it. Unfortunately, the two of them had just started delving into the more romantic sorts of school gossip, and Hermione knew they would probably be at it all evening. 

Hermione listened to their conversation with half an ear even as she and Grubbly-Plank talked of more serious things. Naturally, the conversation turned to the subject that had virtually dominated Hermione’s days and nights for weeks. The dementors. 

“Their breeding grounds have all been broken. There’s practically nowhere left they can go. What’ll happen to them, do you think?” Hermione asked Grubbly-Plank. 

The older witch gave her a steady, knowing look. “The dementors, you mean?” Hermione nodded. “Hard to say. No-one really knows for certain if human fear is a necessary requirement for them, or just…” Her expression soured while she tried to think of the right word. “Entertainment.”

“But what do  _ you  _ think?” Hermione pressed. Magical creatures were Grubbly-Plank’s speciality. If anyone knew, it would be her. 

The Professor sat in silent thought for a little while. Hermione didn’t rush her. 

“They enjoy it, certainly.” Grubbly-Plank said with an air of finality. “But it  _ is  _ a form of sustenance. Their dependence on Azkaban, I think, proves that. The way they keep pressing in areas they know the larger Joy Stones exist… it shows desperation.”

Something about the idea of a dementor feeling desperate made Hermione feel very pleased with herself, all of a sudden. 

“They’re going to starve, aren’t they?”

Grubbly-Plank nodded in agreement. “I think so, yes. If they could feed from non-human beings, they would have already.”

Hermione felt a slow smile creep on her face. “Good.” 

Dimly, she heard Lucius saying, “Is she not a vision, Tiberius?” 

There was no question that it was  _ her  _ that he was talking about. Honestly. She didn’t mind him admiring her, in fact she quite liked it. She’d chosen her outfit with him in mind, after all. But would it kill him to do it a little quieter? 

Tiberius said, “Naturally, but the shoes are the wrong choice. Given the style of the dress.”

In a crosser tone than Hermione had ever heard Lucius use with Tiberius, he said, “What do you know about it? You, who I have seen wearing a bowler hat, and once in this very room?”

Tiberius made an indignant sound, and Hermione struggled not to turn her head and openly watch them argue. “I must say, I find it odd that you of all people would question my fondness for antiques.”

“Tiberius, I am half convinced that muggles only started wearing those ridiculous things to see if we would be stupid enough to follow. You cannot convince me you think you look good in it.”

Tiberius scoffed at this. “It is a statement piece, much like that cane of yours. I am a grown man. Perhaps my tastes-”

Lucius was having none of it. “And if I want an arithmantic prophecy deciphered, or a riddling clock invented, I shall come to you. But in matters of fashion, I trust you will rely on my judgement from now on. Hermione is breathtaking. Let’s say no more about it.”

A blush crept up her neck. She hoped the light from the fire hid it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, what did you think? I really hope you enjoyed it. Finally, the Dementor mini-arc is complete. We are nearing the end of the first arc of the story. Exciting times. 
> 
> Next chapter, which'll be released on the 23rd of December, is our lovely Christmas chapter. After that.... we're having a New Years chapter! 
> 
> Also... I have some exciting news.... one of you lovely people is an artist, apparently? And I've commissioned them to draw a story thumbnail (not sure what the term is but you know what I mean, right?) for the fic! So please look forward to that as well! Thank you very much, Reddove, I really appreciate it!


	13. A Very Hogwarts Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone and welcome to the Christmas chapter! Happy holidays! 
> 
> A massive thanks again to my editor for making this chapter shine!!! You're the best!
> 
> By the way.. we're almost at 90k!!! How crazy is that??? Absolute madness. 
> 
> Read on and enjoy!

Hermione stood in an Edinburgh street, trying not to look like a tourist. 

Around her, the city was heaving with people. Chattering on their phones, laughing and talking, drinking from takeaway cups. Thousands upon thousands of people, and not a single witch’s hat among them. 

It was like being in a different world. The cars, the billboards, the sheer  _ noise _ . The fact that this would have once seemed normal to her was part of what made it all so strange; as a muggleborn, this was just as much a part of her heritage as Hogsmeade was, and yet she spent so little of her time in the muggle world these days that this was all just a little overwhelming. 

_ Might as well get this over and done with.  _ Hermione thought, and crossed the street to use a payphone. She started dialling. Her nerves rose.

This was not a conversation that she wanted to have face to face. She hated letting her parents down more than pretty much anything else in the world. 

Not wanting to risk charming her gloves to warm her hands while surrounded by so many muggles, she tucked her free hand under her armpit. It was December, and even by the standards of Scotland, it was bitterly cold. 

After a few rings, her mother picked up. There was the usual small talk. Were the students alright? Was she writing any new books, working on any new inventions? Hermione asked after their Practice, their neighbours. 

Eventually, the dreaded topic that she had called about came up. In her ear, her mother pleaded, “Hermione, dear, will you be coming home for Christmas this year? Your father and I miss you-”

She tried to break it to her gently. “I’m sorry, mum, there’s a lot going on. They really need me-”

Hermione heard her father calling out in the general direction of the telephone, “Tell her they can’t make her work on Christmas, it’s illegal! I checked.”

Hermione tried, and failed, to suppress a smile. Her father, the warrior. “I can come for a few hours on Christmas Eve but that’s it. Sorry mum, dad, I’ll make it up to you-”

“What on earth could they possibly have you doing on Christmas Day?” Jean Granger very rarely got cross, but she sounded cross now. “Surely all the students will be home for Christmas? And I know you can’t be behind in marking all the coursework.” 

“Well that’s the thing, mum.” She said slowly. “Not all the students will be going home.”

There was a pause, and her dad spoke directly into the phone to ask, “So you’re staying behind to look after them?” He sounded much more understanding now, and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Exactly. Not everyone has a place to go that’s really…” 

She trailed off. It was hard to know what to say when all she could think of was Harry. She hadn’t thought much of it as a child, but in her memories now he was always skinny. His clothes obviously secondhand and ill-fitting, and the way he seemed so grateful for any small thing anyone did for him. 

And hungry. Always so, so hungry. 

But that wasn’t her story to tell, and so Hermione just said, “Anyway, I checked with the Headmistress and she agrees. I’m going to do something for all the children who can’t go home. It should be a special day for them, too.”

The other end went silent, and Hermione worried that the connection had dropped out. Then she heard her mother sob, and her father said, “ _ That’s _ our daughter!”

Hermione let out a breath and leaned against the inside of the booth, grinning through her tears. 

Hermione Granger had suffered a great deal in her relatively short life, but she’d also been given gifts beyond measure. Good health. Incredible abilities. Most of all, she had her parents. Jean and Richard Granger. 

Her mum pulled herself together and said very cheerfully, “Right then, you take care of all the kids, we love you very very much, we’ll send you some money to get them something nice from us. We’ll see you on Christmas Eve though, won’t we?”

Hermione knew a lost battle when she saw one, so she didn’t try to refuse the money. No matter how many times she explained to them that she had more than enough of her own, it made them happy to help her every now and then. 

“Absolutely. I’ll be home at lunchtime for Christmas Eve, okay?”

Her parents agreed, and hung up. 

* * *

The party was the reason Hermione had given them, and it hadn’t been a lie, exactly, but it was far from the only reason she couldn’t go home for Christmas. 

Shacklebolt had written to her personally to ask her to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays. He had emphasised that while it was her choice to make, the situation with the dementors (though improving by the day) was far from resolved. The aurors he’d sent hunting dementors had found that the dark creatures were encroaching on smaller muggle towns and villages, ones too small to be given a communal Joy Stone yet. 

She had every confidence that her parents would be safe. Both of them wore Joy Stones, though they were blissfully unaware that the watches she had given them might save their lives one day. That didn’t mean that their anxiety couldn’t attract more dementors to their vicinity, though, if they knew what was happening. To tell them of the threat would put innocent lives at risk, and so she had given Kingsley her word that she would never would. 

* * *

Christmas was fast approaching, and Hermione had a lot of work to do if she was going to make the party a success. 

There were the presents, obviously. She’d taken care of those straightaway. She wanted to make things fair, so she tried to get presents that all cost about the same amount. They were the sorts of small things that any child could presumably like; a selection of treats, enchanted quills, and quidditch memorabilia. She felt reasonably happy that there should be enough for everyone. But then there was the food, the tree, the decorations. She couldn’t just hold the celebration in an empty room, could she? Everything had to look right and feel welcoming. 

It was a lot of work, but luckily the other staff members had given their support. In addition to Minerva’s announcement, the other Heads of House had promised to speak to their Prefects, Head Girls and Boys individually to make sure they were reminding their Houses. Everyone who wanted to come, could come. 

Hermione would be there after breakfast. She refused to let herself think of how embarrassed she’d be if no-one came. At least a few children would surely come, and she knew that those who did would appreciate it. 

Grubbly-Plank had offered the use of the Hufflepuff Common Room for the party and Hermione had been all too happy to take her up on it. Aside from being a great deal more spacious than the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw towers, Hufflepuff’s Common Room was generally considered neutral ground and it wasn’t unheard of for members of other Houses to be allowed there. 

As if this wasn’t enough, there was also the Yule Ball to think about. Hermione had spent so much time on organising the children’s party that the Yule Ball itself, which should have been the highlight of the year, had sort of faded into the background. 

This year it was to be held on the night of Christmas Eve. Minerva had reasoned, quite soundly, that if they held it on Christmas Eve rather than Christmas Day itself, more children might actually be able to attend. 

Hermione hadn’t put a great deal of effort into her Yule Ball plans. She loved a Ball as much as the next person, but the children were her priority. This wasn’t to say she wouldn’t be going to the Ball; she’d planned to start getting ready as soon as she returned from lunch with her parents. It simply wasn’t her focus. 

Hermione was willing to admit, at least to herself, that the greatest possible appeal that the Ball could hold for her would be a chance to spend time with Lucius. And to dance with him again...  _ Merlin. _ Could she do it? She had danced with him at the Halloween Ball because she hadn’t understood what she had begun to feel, and she certainly hadn’t realised that he’d felt anything for her. Could she do it again, knowing? 

_ Yes, I could.  _

It was useless even to hope. Lucius was, above all, a family man. He would be with Draco for Christmas. Whatever was between them, it hadn’t developed to the point where inviting her along to a family Christmas would be even remotely appropriate. 

_ One day, though…  _ Pursuing any sort of romantic relationship with Lucius meant that they would eventually have to tell Draco. Have to spend time together, even. The idea was off-putting, to say the least. She’d long since forgiven Draco for his role in the War. What Lucius had told her, all those months ago in the Head Club, had made sure of that. But when she remembered all of Draco’s bullying and cruelty, it made her feel distinctly uncomfortable at the thought of being near him. 

Even so, be willing to give Draco a chance to show that, like the rest of them, he had changed. To do otherwise would be beneath her. Whether or not Draco would respond in kind was entirely up to him. 

* * *

Neville surprised them all with a visit at the staff table one morning. Hermione was delighted to see him. Since the birth of his son, Michael, he’d been on paternity leave and they’d seen little of the Herbology Professor. He’d come bearing photos and footprints done with sparkling ink. The ink was blue, and remnants of it still marked his hands and his hair. Hermione didn’t mention it; it actually sort of suited him. 

Neville had to pull up a chair beside Minerva. When Neville had gone on paternity leave, Lucius had taken his chair so he could sit on Hermione’s left. It was a welcome change. Aside from the fact that she generally enjoyed having him nearby, there was only so much neck-craning and raising her voice that she could do. 

Surprisingly, the other staff members hadn’t batted an eye at this, and Neville didn’t complain. Hermione could only be grateful for how oblivious they could be. 

Neville was as euphoric (and tired) as only a new parent could be. Hermione didn’t complain when he showed them the same photo more than once. She didn’t bat an eyelid over his insistence that she admit that Michael was “the most beautiful and sweet baby in the whole world, except for Lana obviously since the two of them were tied.” She just smiled, thought of Amelia, and said nothing. 

Notably, he didn’t bring Michael or Hannah. The wizarding world made a big deal of young children, and new mothers in particular. The Dragon Pox epidemic probably had something to do with it, but Hermione knew there was more to it than that. For non family members, being allowed to see a newborn baby was seen as a real privilege, and generally wasn’t done at all until the baby was a month or so old. 

Grubbly-Plank’s entrance gave her a blessed break; suddenly Neville had someone new to show his photos to. Hermione was able to think of other things. 

Beside her, Lucius’ eyes were alight with something, and he tucked into his breakfast with obvious relish. Looking up and down the table, he asked the general question, “And what are our holiday plans for this year?” 

“I’ll be busy with the children.” Hermione said, suppressing the urge to remind him that they had already discussed this on several occasions. Lucius liked to play these games, at times. She was starting to think he enjoyed being scolded by her. 

“A fine idea.” Lucius said warmly. “Though I’m sure your family will miss you.”

What a difference a few years could make. “They understand, and I’ll be seeing them for Christmas Eve.” 

Neville spoke up, “Hannah and I are taking the kids to St Mungos first thing in the morning, then we’re having dinner at home. We’re saving the presents till last. I’ve been planting a winter garden for Lana and the baby. It’s taken me months. You have no idea how hard it’s been to keep it a secret; Lana’s only young but kids see more than what you’d think. She’s going to lose her  _ mind. _ ”

This prompted a chorus of approving noises from the rest of the table, and suddenly everyone started talking about what they were going to be doing. Hagrid, she learned to her horror, had decided to take Olympe to visit Norberta and her most recent clutch in Romania. The groundskeeper refused to listen to any of Hermione’s repeated entreaties for him to do something less dangerous instead. McGonagall was visiting family in the far north of Scotland for a day or two. Grubbly-Plank was going to take stock of the Swiss Unicorn herds, and pretty much everyone else was staying at school. Tiberius planned to wrap up a few arithmantic conundrums he had been working on. Binns was working on his lesson plans. How he could be doing that Hermione had no idea, since his lessons were the same every year. Sinistra was going to be performing some charmswork on the telescopes, which Hermione would have loved to help her with if she hadn’t already been so busy. Hooch was working on her lap times. Old age, the Quidditch coach said, was no excuse to get rusty. 

At this point, Hermione realised that Lucius probably wouldn’t have asked the staff table what their plans were unless he’d wanted to talk about his own. 

“What about you, Lucius?” She asked, and hid a small smile at how he puffed himself up. Honestly. She couldn’t believe that she’d once thought him mysterious. In a way, Lucius was perhaps the simplest man she’d ever known. 

He replied, “My family and I will be going on a trip together.”

Because she knew it would make him happy, she asked, “All of you?”

“Oh yes.” He said, as if it wasn’t a big deal. She knew that it was. “All of us together.”

She wasn’t sure if this included Narcissa, his ex-wife. As a muggleborn, Hermione had gone to great lengths to learn as much about wizarding society as she could, but she did have a few blind spots. Divorce was one of them. Unfortunately, wizards and witches didn’t like to write about it. She had no idea whether Lucius would be on friendly terms with Narcissa or whether it would be appropriate for the two of them to spend time with one another. 

Hermione decided that it was better to avoid asking about something that might come across as insensitive, or worse, hurt his feelings. Instead, Hermione asked, “You must be really looking forward to it. Where are you going?”

She was actually very curious about that. Where exactly  _ would  _ a family like the Malfoys go on Christmas holidays? Surely they would have travelled the whole world by now. 

Lucius didn’t seem to really care. “One of the islands. In the South East, I think. Draco prefers the heat.”

Hermione couldn’t think of anything to say to that, but she didn’t need to. Lucius needed no further prompting and started asking her about her own travel experience. She greatly disappointed him by telling him that she had very little. Though she didn’t come out and say it, the most travelling she had ever done, aside from her trips to France with her parents when she was a little girl, had been when she had been apparating around Britain with Harry and Ron. It did not particularly bother her. Going travelling for the sake of it had always seemed stupid to her. She had work to be doing, after all. 

Lucius seemed to take this lack of wanderlust as a personal affront. “I’m surprised at you. You cannot want for resources. Travel sharpens the mind, Hermione. You must make time for it. Do not let the Headmistress work you too hard.”

From her place in the center of the table, McGonagall muttered, “As if I could persuade Hermione to work less.”

Lucius continued solicitously, “Should you ever decide to try it, I would be glad to make recommendations to you.” 

Hermione shrugged. “It wouldn’t happen anytime soon. I’m far too busy for holidays.”

The Slytherin seemed to take this as a challenge. “I’m sure I could think of a few places that might tempt you.”

“I don’t think so.” She said with a smile. “I can read anywhere in the world, and invent anywhere in the world. Why should it matter where I am? Sitting on a beach somewhere is just a waste of time and besides, it might distract me.” 

Lucius shook his head slightly. He looked almost as if he felt sorry for her. 

“Ah. Perhaps I am running when I should be walking. Well, if travel for the purpose of leisure does not suit you, would a working holiday be more to your tastes?” He turned his eyes up to the enchanted ceiling in thoughtful contemplation. “Let me see… what about the Witches Sanctuary in Slovakia? When I was young, it was considered a necessity for any witch of standing to go there at least once. Or the Archival Catacombs in Nepal? Inventors have gone there for centuries. Do they hold no appeal to you at all? Lake Tanganyika is truly beautiful, and it’s waters are said to have many magical properties I am sure would entice you. I can think of a dozen such places which I am sure you would enjoy very much.” 

Lucius paused and gave her a knowing smile. “And I can see you are about to tell me that since you have already read about these places, you have no need to visit them. There, I am afraid, you are mistaken. There is a great difference between reading about a place and actually visiting it. Besides, you forget your significance to our people. You owe it to all of wizardry to have a little break every now and then. Imagine what heights of spellcrafting you might reach if only you rested your brain!”

_ Our  _ people. There was something about the way he said it. The way his eyes held hers. She was reminded of that knowing smile of his that day in the Ministry. 

_ ‘Well, well, well. Isn’t this interesting?’ _

Her cheeks grew very warm, all of a sudden. She tried to make light of it. “If I didn’t know any better, Lucius, I would think you’re making fun of me.”

He answered her blush with a ready smile, and her question with a look of false horror. “Make fun of  _ you _ , Hermione? Never. I would not dare.”

* * *

The Christmas Holidays began and the school started to empty as the children started going home to their families. Hermione exchanged presents with the staff, with promises to open them first thing on Christmas morning. 

The Hogwarts express was running every other day to take students home and bring them back. Of course, most of the people over seventeen would just go outside the castle wards and apparate from there. 

She’d gone with Lucius as far as Hogsmeade to say goodbye. He’d been wearing his best and carrying a black suitcase. She refused to get over-emotional about it and had pulled him into a fierce hug instead. She made him promise, for the third time that day, to write to her whenever he had time.

The last she saw of him before he turned on his heel and disappeared, he’d been blushing and avoiding her eyes. 

As farewells went, it hadn’t been bad.

* * *

The Yule Ball was wondrous. 

The first thought that crossed Hermione’s mind when she entered was that, somehow, a forest had taken root in the Great Hall. Tall, proud pine and fir trees filled the room, with stone-lined pathways between them. Bonfires at random intervals drew clusters of children and staff alike. There were great ice sculptures; dragons and unicorns, and manticores. Every now and then they would turn down their heads to watch the crowds beneath, solemn and silent. 

And then there was the snow. It behaved itself, for the most part. Every now and then it would coalesce into a gentle snow-flurry. Laughing students would run to stand in the middle of it until the dancing snowflakes disperse.

The greatest bonfire blazed in the center of the room, and it was around this that the feast-tables were arrayed. The smells coming from those tables called her with a siren song.

Best of all, Hermione was pleased to note that Hagrid hadn’t been able to convince Minerva to bring in a herd of reindeer.

Her footsteps crunched beneath her, and Hermione looked down at the snow with a frown. The unfortunate consequence of all this was that her heels were absolutely useless, so she conjured herself something more practical instead. 

Lucius would have laughed. Her perfectly coiffed hair, gorgeous fur trimmed robes… and a great big pair of boots. Or perhaps not. Perhaps he would have called it a ‘signature outfit’ and praised her. 

That sorted, Hermione made a beeline straight to the feast-tables, fully intending to try at least one of everything. The desserts, especially. 

She spent the next hour or two chatting with her fellow staff members, stuffing herself silly, and trying to stop an excited group of Gryffindors from holding an impromptu ski race. This proved more difficult than she would have liked, though in the end she was able to bargain them down to a snowball fight. Soon, charmed snowballs were soaring through the air. Things escalated, as they often did. Before long, they were all (Hermione included) getting a stern telling-off from McGonagall. She felt a little guilty for getting the students in trouble, but it was well worth it. The snowball fight had been surprisingly fun. The fact that she’d been winning had nothing to do with it. 

The rest of the students were enjoying themselves as well. The Ravenclaws were building a twenty foot snowman in one corner of the room. It had a massive, charmed carrot as a nose, and rocks stolen from the pathway as eyes. Currently, they were trying to enchant it to repeat a few simple riddles, but couldn’t quite seem to figure out the enunciation. Hermione made a mental note to go over and help them in half an hour if they still hadn’t figured it out.

The Hufflepuffs were playing Exploding Snap underneath the branches of a fir tree. They, at least, didn’t require constant supervision. The few Slytherins that had stayed behind were playing with them. It was quite a sight. The Slytherins were cheating shamelessly, but the Hufflepuffs were very good at catching them. 

She talked to her favourite students and yes; she did have favourites. She tried her best to treat everyone the same, of course, but she couldn’t help but look forward to spending time with her NEWTs class in particular. Daniel was staying behind this year, and a few of his friends had chosen to stay with him. She found their solidarity very heart-warming, though she worried that he’d been unable to go home because he’d chosen to take her Charms NEWT. 

She danced with as many people as she could make time for. Neville, Tiberius and Sinistra. Neville could only stay for an hour or two before racing back home to his wife and children, so they’d made it count. She helped him sneak food into a bag he’d brought; he wouldn’t listen to her argument that, as a wizard, he didn’t need to squirrel away mince pies and christmas pudding. She had no doubt that there would be plenty of House Elves who’d jump at the chance to work for him. Neville simply replied that Hogwarts food was best, and she was forced to agree. 

She danced with Viktor Krum. 

The wizard wore an outfit that was fairly reminiscent of the one he had worn to the Yule Ball during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. The red stood out strikingly against the white snow. They chatted as they spun across the room. Viktor told her all about how Slytherin was going to win the Inter-House cup. She laughed at him. He apologised for not being there when the dementors had attacked, as if that had somehow been his fault. She assured him that it wasn’t. Everything had turned out alright in the end, hadn’t it? With her express permission, Kingsley had released the instructions on how to create Joy Stones to the world, free of charge. Viktor couldn’t praise her, or the Minister for Magic, enough. When Hermione and Viktor went their separate ways for the evening, it was as friends. 

Still, Hermione was not completely happy. Lucius was not here. His absence was like a foul taste in the back of her mouth, and she only banished it by thinking of how happy he must be with his family, and how much she would have to tell him when they next saw one another. That being the case, it seemed hopelessly juvenile and a little self-destructive to spoil what could be a lovely evening with pining. 

And so Hermione threw herself into the night’s festivities, only going back to her rooms when the Great Hall was almost empty.

* * *

The alarm rang bright and early. 

_ Christmas morning!  _

Hermione tumbled out of bed and ran to the window for the obligatory peek. It was indeed snowing. The entire grounds were buried. Even the quidditch hoops were noticeably shorter. 

It was absolutely perfect. 

Hermione didn’t  _ run.  _ After all, she wasn’t a child. But she did leave her room and go out to her office  _ very quickly _ .

Over the last few days she had been collecting quite the hoard of parcels and letters on her table. It was like a monument of friendship, and just seeing it made her too excited to wait. Still in her pajamas, she started unwrapping her presents, screwing up little wrapping paper balls for Crookshanks to chase as she went. 

Ginny had given her a moving photo of them all together, which Hermione knew was destined for a pride of place on her desk. From Harry, a rather embarrassing collection of the new Chocolate Frogs with Hermione Granger cards. He apparently thought they were hilarious. Hermione made a mental note to return the favour next year. The Potter family had also sent a drawing of her from Amelia. Hermione studied it and her heart softened. The toddler really  _ was  _ getting better at drawing her hair. 

She’d got cards from Cho, Angelina and Luna. Luna’s spat glitter at her when she opened it up, and Hermione had to Vanish it from her pajamas. Tiberius had sent her an antique pair of lace gloves which he claimed would prevent her from being disarmed. Hermione put them to one side  _ very gently,  _ with plans to study them later. 

There was nothing from Molly, of course. Hermione refused to let that hurt. Luckily, Grubbly-Plank and Minerva had sent her enough toffee, shortbread and boiled sweets to last a lifetime. 

Finally, Hermione reached for the box she knew could only come from Lucius. A long, wide white box embossed with his seal. She had saved it till last. 

She took a moment to savour the anticipation of it. She was really, truly glad that he’d gotten her something. Some witches and wizards celebrated Christmas the muggle way, with gift giving, and some didn’t. Many witches and wizards didn’t care about Christmas at all. Hermione had sent him something regardless, but wasn’t sure if she’d get anything in return. 

Hermione opened the box. Nestled within a swathe of tissue paper was a luxurious blue coat. 

The coat was double-breasted. It was a deep, sapphire blue with silver buttons. Cut in a wizarding style, it had a deep, wide hood and long sleeves. When she stood up and held it against her, she saw that it would fall down to her mid-calf. 

It was stunning, of course, but that wasn’t really the best thing about it. The best thing was on the inside; on the left-hand side of the coat's inner lining was a buttoned sleeve for a wand. Just like the one she had seen in Lucius’ coat when they had gone to the Forbidden Forest.

Attached to the box was a short note. 

_ ‘Hermione.  _

_ I have often seen you struggling with your wand. This coat is done in the new style; you will note that the wand-sleeve has come pre-charmed to only accept the hand of one witch or wizard. The instructions to bond the sleeve are attached, though I am sure you will not need them. _

_ You may expect me back on January 2nd. Below, I have enclosed an address you can Floo me at, should you need me. Do not send Atlas; it will be too far, even for him.  _

_ Merry Christmas.  _

_ Yours,  _

_ Lucius.’  _

She hoped he would like what she’d gotten him. In terms of material things, Lucius had almost everything a man could want. In the end, she’d decided on a nice bottle of brandy. Tiberius had strongly recommended it and it had cost her a pretty disgusting amount of money, so she felt reasonably confident that Lucius would like it. 

They might even be able to drink it together.

* * *

After she’d finished unwrapping her presents, Hermione ducked into the Hall for a spot of breakfast. Only a handful of students were there and the mood was very relaxed. A few of the students from her own House had gone to sit at other tables and talk to their friends there. The sight of it warmed her heart. Right up until she saw that they had their feet up on the benches. At this, she frowned. The students jumped when they saw her come in, and looked ready to flee back to the Gryffindor table. Waving them off, she walked past them with a cheery ‘Merry Christmas’. After all, if people couldn’t relax on Christmas morning, when could they? A few of the students called out ‘Merry Christmas’ back to her as well. 

The staff table was nearly empty, as she had known it would be. A few still remained. Sinistra gave her a polite smile. Tiberius was in his normal place, downing coffee instead of breakfast, as per usual. 

And there in his normal spot beside hers, was Lucius. Shock slowed her walk for a moment before she resumed her quick pace. 

Lucius gave her a nod and a thin smile as she sat down. He gave no explanation for his presence, and Hermione found the lukewarm welcome very telling. She couldn’t even remember the last time Lucius hadn’t gone out of his way to at least give her a friendly good morning. 

_ What are you doing here, Lucius? _

Hermione was very, very tempted to outright ask him, but after a moment’s thought the answer was so obvious that to ask would have been worse than heartless. 

Short of severe injury, there could only be one reason that Lucius would miss an opportunity to spend time with his son and grandson. Either Draco, or Astoria, or potentially both of them, had told him he wasn’t welcome, and he’d been left behind. 

Hermione felt an overpowering  _ rage  _ at this. She knew that Lucius’ relationship with his son was complicated, but to be cut out at the last minute? At Christmas, of all times? 

She wanted to ask him what possible reason had been given for the decision, but they were not alone and besides, she didn’t want to cause him more pain. All she knew was that seeing him here  _ hurt.  _ Last night, she would have done pretty much anything for even a few minutes conversation with him. She’d missed him that badly. But now? 

“Good morning, Lucius.” Hermione said in a casual sort of way as she took her seat. “I hope you’re feeling alright.”

He assured her that he was, but though his tone was polite, even friendly, she was not convinced. Now that she was closer, she could see that he was wearing the same robes that he’d worn yesterday. That was… worrying. In all her time working with him, both at Hogwarts and at the Ministry, she had never known Lucius Malfoy to wear the same clothes two days in a row. 

Eventually Tiberius separated himself from his cup long enough to ask Lucius the question that was on her own lips. 

“Lucius, old boy, weren’t you supposed to be with your family for Christmas? I’m surprised to see you back.” 

But before Lucius could say a word, Hermione cut in, “I was feeling a bit overworked, so Lucius offered to help me set things up for today. It was really nice of him.”

There was the tiniest little pause, before Lucius smoothly said, “It’s no trouble at all.”

Tiberius looked surprised, but pleased. “Marvelous. I say Lucius, you have really mellowed out, haven’t you? One of the benefits of age, I assume?”

This went as well as could be expected, and Hermione didn’t get a rational word out of either of them for the rest of the breakfast. She didn’t mind one bit. 

Sometimes, listening to the two of them squabble could get a little frustrating. But as they went on, Lucius seemed to get more and more of his spirit back, and by the time Hermione had to excuse herself to get ready for the party, she was no longer quite as worried about him. 

* * *

In her many years at the castle, Hermione had explored a great deal of Hogwarts. She still hadn’t found a single place more comforting, more reassuring, than the Hufflepuff Common Room. Even the Room of Requirement couldn’t match it for heart-felt authenticity. 

The room was of a beautiful, circular design. The overstuffed armchairs were made of pale wood and golden cushions. Plants were everywhere; hanging from the ceiling and sitting next to chairs in bronze pots. The Hufflepuff’s had lit a fire in the fireplace, over which a portrait of Helga Hufflepuff smiled. The sound of the popping wood logs only added to the atmosphere. 

It reminded her of a sort of den, but in a nice way. The Hufflepuffs had turned this old wine cellar into a home. The fact that it was below ground level  _ did  _ mean that the single window was totally blocked by a snowdrift, but even that only added to it’s charm. 

In terms of decorations, she hadn’t had to do as much as she’d feared. The Hufflepuffs had told her they would handle it, and they hadn’t let her down. The Common Room was looking very festive indeed. The mantlepiece had little carolling badger dolls. The Christmas tree was almost totally covered in tinsel, glowing stars and ornaments. The low ceilings meant it wasn’t overly large, but Hermione reasoned that would only make her pile of presents look bigger. Holly had been cultivated over the archway leading to the student dorms. 

The Hufflepuffs were helping the castle Elves set the table. All Hermione had to do was add the finishing touches of Charmwork here and there. She added a few board games to the pile; Monopoly, Cluedo and another Wizard chess set, just in case. Finally, she added her presents beneath the tree, fishing out the whole contents of her handbag in a great pile. Hands on her hips, Hermione surveyed the room with a smile. 

Hermione was something of a family-Christmas veteran. She’d planned today with experience gained from Christmases with her parents, the Potters, and the Weasleys. She was very happy with this one; now all she needed was the students. 

She didn’t have to wait long. The Gryffindors came first, of course. Not individually but as a group. Some of them she hadn’t seen at breakfast and they looked half asleep, bless them, so Hermione passed round cups of tea and coffee as she ushered them in. 

With the Gryffindors, the Common Room was already starting to look more full. 

Still, Hermione tried not to get her hopes up. They were her own House. If no-one else, she could have relied upon them to come. Joanna, her Head Girl, approached her with a grin. 

“Morning, Hermione. Morning badgers. Love the food. Hope you got more where that came from; saw plenty of Ravenclaws following behind us, though I think you might want to get out there. A couple of them were fiddling with the jinx on the barrels when we came in.”

The Hufflepuffs were appalled and ran out to herd the Ravenclaws in. Five or six Ravenclaws soon joined them, not looking the slightest bit ashamed of themselves. They started quizzing the Hufflepuffs on the jinx, and Hermione got distracted trying to stop the Gyffindors from opening their presents before it was time. 

There was a knock at the door, and Hermione turned to see Lucius Malfoy stood surrounded by a gaggle of Slytherins. They were looking at their feet, at the ceiling, at one another. Anywhere but her or the other students. 

She smiled. And it wasn’t just at seeing  _ him _ . “Merry Christmas, everyone. Come in, come in.” She said, trying to sound as welcoming as she could. “There’s plenty for everyone. Daniel, Miss Flint, nice to see you!”

Despite her best efforts to help, the Slytherins stuck out like sore thumbs at first. Even if they hadn’t been ushered into the room by Lucius Malfoy, something about them set them apart. The way their eyes swept the room, checking the corners. The way they stood together. Even their clothes were different; they wore neat casual while the other children wore pajamas or scruffy daywear.

Once they had gotten over their instinctive desire to appear too cool to be there, the Slytherins started ingratiating themselves amongst the other students and quickly charmed their way amongst them. 

Reasoning that about as many people had come who  _ would  _ come, Hermione finally gave the all clear for the children to start opening the presents. Before long, the children were sitting around the tree and tearing at wrapping paper.

Hermione watched them from her armchair by the fireplace. Lucius sat beside her. 

“This is nice.” She said softly, watching as Joanna supervised an argument about Quidditch, making sure things didn’t get too out of hand. 

“It should not be necessary at all.” Lucius replied tightly. Where she watched the children with pleasure, his jaw was clenched. “I can’t imagine why any family would choose to be apart when they could be together.”

Hermione didn’t say anything. She knew he was speaking from a place of pain. What she wanted to do was reach over and take his hand in hers, but to do it with so many students all around them...

“It’s lovely to see the Slytherins here.” Hermione said, instead. It did not feel quite enough, so she continued, “I’m happy you all came.”

Lucius shot her a grateful look. “I must admit that I felt a little guilty at the prospect of you taking this all on alone. Since my other plans- well, since I was going to remain at Hogwarts regardless, I thought I might as well chaperone them.”

_ And bully them into coming in the first place,  _ she thought. She didn’t mind. Slytherins had a tendency to try to squirrel themselves away. Old, and young. 

“I’m really happy you came.” She said again. “And I loved my present, Lucius. Thank you.” 

Lucius pulled himself up a little bit in his chair. “I’m glad. I’m sorry to say I haven’t opened yours. I’ll open it tonight.”

“It’s alright, Lucius. You can open it whenever you like.” 

Lucius smiled, and they fell into a comfortable silence for a while. 

A particularly frazzled looking Ravenclaw challenged a slick, dark-eyed Slytherin fifth year to a game of Wizard chess. The Slytherin smiled in answer and a chorus of  _ ‘ooohs’  _ went up from a few nearby students. The Hufflepuffs pulled them up a couple of chairs, and they sat down with a crowd forming around them. 

Hermione watched them all with real pride. This was what they needed. A way to bring everyone together. 

Quietly, he observed, “That was a very kind thing you did for me earlier today, Hermione.” 

He meant the lie; that he’d stayed behind of his own free will. 

Hermione fidgeted. “Lucius, honestly. It was nothing.”

“It was far from nothing. Thank you.” 

Hermione tapped her fingers on her knee, struggling to find the words she wanted to say. Finally, she said, “Lucius… look, I don’t want to poke my nose in, but seriously, if anything like this happens again, I’d rather you just came to me about it.”

He gave her a look. “I beg your pardon?”

Hermione pushed on. “When did you find out about it? When did they tell you they didn’t-?” Hermione reconsidered. “That they would rather you left?”

Lucius said nothing, and for a while, Hermione worried that she had gone too far. She and Lucius were… close. Even ignoring their feelings for one another, she really thought that she might be closer to him than she’d ever been with anyone. But she also knew that Lucius had his own life, and his own boundaries. This might be crossing them. 

Eventually, he answered. “Yesterday afternoon.”

Yesterday afternoon. And he hadn’t said a word. 

“So you came back?” He nodded reluctantly. “But you just… stayed in your room? All day, and all night, by yourself?” The idea of him in pain, of him feeling abandoned and alone, physically hurt her. “Lucius, you should have Floo’d me. You shouldn’t have been alone.”

Lucius looked away. “I would have been poor company. I knew you were at the Ball.” 

“That’s not the point.” Hermione said flatly. “I wasn’t exactly good company either, the last time we were alone.” She wouldn’t say,  _ when we made the Joy Stones together.  _ “You helped me, remember?”

Stubbornly, he said, “It isn’t the same.”

Hermione had to restrain the urge to scoff at him. 

People were so, so strange. If someone tripped over and got a tiny little bruise, they would rub a healing salve on it, or at the very least point it out to all their friends. But emotional pain or injury? They would bottle it up, ignore it, excuse it away, do anything  _ other  _ than acknowledge it. 

Pain was pain, and loneliness was a particularly cruel kind. Lucius had needed her. He had not come to her. She hated that. 

“Actually, it is.” Hermione said with a tight smile.  _ I would rather have been with you, Lucius. Even if we’d just moped together in your office all night. I would rather have been there for you when you needed me.  _

Lucius looked as though he wanted to argue, but thought better of it. “Alright. If you insist.”

* * *

It turned out to be a wonderful day. 

It wasn’t quite perfect, obviously. She hadn’t counted on so many students coming and it turned out that there weren't enough presents for everyone. Lucius had nipped the resulting brawl in the bud by suggesting that Hermione could sign copies of her books for those who had missed out. The children had been very happy with that. She spent a good fifteen minutes signing books with personal messages, while Lucius smirked behind her. 

They’d sung every carol they could think of, and Hermione had  _ really  _ tried. Lucius had a beautiful baritone. She would have happily listened to him all day. 

The party was coming to an end, though. The Hufflepuffs had stopped eating, and some of the children had been observed yawning. She didn’t blame them. Christmas was a wonderful time, but it could also be absolutely exhausting. 

The chess game was coming to a conclusion. The Ravenclaw girl was dismantling the Slytherin. Her knight made one final sweeping lunge, the queen lost her head, and the Slytherins groaned. The Slytherin player laughed and held out his hand. After a moment of confusion the Ravenclaw took it and shook. 

“Good game.” He said, cheerily, and she smiled timidly. 

Beside her, Lucius assessed the situation with a practiced eye and said, “I think that is about enough. I will take the Slytherins and Ravenclaws to their dormitories.”

Hermione gasped. She’d almost forgotten. “Wait- wait just a second-” 

Hermione ran to her bag and started rummaging through. “Before you all go, would you just stand together for a moment-?” The baffled students hurried to comply. “No no, in front of the fireplace- you too, Lucius”

Her fingers touched cool metal.  _ There. _ Grinning triumphantly, she pulled out a tripod and magical camera.

His brow furrowed in confusion as he saw it. “What on Earth…”

“Humour me.” She said as she adjusted the camera with her wand, fine tuning it with practiced expertise. When she and Ron had been a couple, they had taken a lot of photos together. At the Burrow, at her old London apartment… Best not to think about that now. The point was, she was no Colin Creevy, but she could take a good photo when she needed to. 

The students were spread out a little too thin for the frame. A little prodding made them come in closer, got the tall ones at the back, and so forth. She joined them, nudging the children out of the way to stand beside Lucius. She saw him watching her out of the corner of his eyes and poked him until he looked at the camera.

In a low voice, she reminded him, “You said you missed the old Hogwarts traditions, Lucius. Think of this as a new one.”

She truly hoped it would be. That this would be something they could all do together, every year. That Christmas could be something for them to look forward to, instead of feeling left out. She already had ideas on how next year’s Christmas celebration could be improved. She should have brought more board games. She had underestimated the amount of students that would come. She needed more presents, more food. 

And as for Lucius? For his sake, she hoped that next year he wouldn’t be here. 

The camera gave a high pitched buzz. That was their cue. She snapped out of her reverie. Everyone smiled, she looked to Lucius and saw he wasn’t. He didn’t look sour by any means, but he still wasn’t posing  _ properly _ . 

She elbowed him in the ribs, hard. 

“Smile, idiot!” She hissed through her teeth. This was going to be their first photo together, after all. She wanted it to be perfect. 

The camera flashed. 

* * *

_ A few dozen students and two adults stand before a great fireplace.  _

_ The photo is black and white. The students are from all different Houses. The photo moves; one can see the students fidgeting on their feet, casting jaded looks at one another that say they have better places to be. They are teenagers and have very little time for photos.  _

_ At the back the adults are looking very serious. The woman, on the left, because she is so obviously trying to take the perfect photo. Her mouth is set in a rigid smile. The man on the right because it is expected of him. The woman’s hair is curling and wild. The man is sleek and polished. His eyes are cool and his back is straight.  _

_ The young witch elbows the handsome wizard. He half-turns to her in injured surprise, his hand pressed against his side. He pauses, and his eyes crinkle with mirth just as he tilts his head back in a great laugh. Everyone is caught totally off guard by this, the witch most of all. When the surprise fades from her face, it is replaced by the beginnings of a fond smile. And then the photo reverts.  _

It is a good photo. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh I hope you liked it! This chapter was surprisingly tricky!
> 
> Next chapter is the New Year's chapter. It'll be coming on the 31st, which is fitting!
> 
> The New Year chapter is the end of part one of the story, and I'm sorry to say I may have to take a break for a couple of weeks after that. It's been an intense few weeks and I want to write lots more cutesy stuff for you guys before I get into the main story! I especially want to think of some new chapters if possible! Let me know if you can think of any sweet things you'd like them to see or do, I'm not too proud to take suggestions! The only thing is, their first date is already decided so that one's not up for grabs sadly!
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed your holidays and that 2021 is better for us all. May Jason Isaacs' cheekbones be a shield to you in these trying times, and may Emma Watson's little upturned nose light your path ahead. 
> 
> See you next week!


	14. ... and in with the New.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR! 
> 
> It's almost 1am where I am. I hope it isn't New Year's where you all are! I've been trying to get this chapter up as early as I can, but life got in the way. I hope you all enjoy it. 
> 
> I really hope you are all well. Thanks so much to everyone supporting and loving this story. My editor, as always, is a godsend!
> 
> Also, shoutout to the Basement! ;)

Christmas was over and done with. New Years leapt out at her from nowhere. By the time Hermione realised she had no plans, it was already too late. 

Harry, Ginny and Amelia had gone on holiday to Spain with about half the Weasley clan for Christmas. They had meant to come home on Boxing Day, but apparently they liked it so much they decided to stay until New Years. 

Hermione wanted to join them very badly. It had been weeks since she’d seen them all and she missed her god-daughter very much. But Hermione knew that this would be their first proper holiday as a family together. She didn’t want to intrude. Besides, Ron and Emily had gone with them and Ron’s selfishness had made any sort of cordial relationship between them impossible. It was a shame, but it was for the best that she hadn’t gone. 

Even her parents, usually the last resort of even the most loving twenty-something year old daughter, were busy. They were going to a charades tournament at a friend's house. Hermione actually really liked charades and would have considered asking them if she could join them, but she knew exactly what would happen if she went. The party would be filled with people around her parents' age. Some of those parents would undoubtedly have brought their children with them. Her well-meaning, loving, wonderful parents, would find a young person to be on her team. Boy or girl, it didn’t matter. When it came to the subject of pairing off their daughter, her parents were equal opportunists. Suddenly, Hermione would have a complete stranger to sit next to all evening while her parents made not-so-subtle efforts to find out what the two of them had in common, if anything. Careers, personality traits, backgrounds, would all be analysed under a microscope. Worst of all, she would know that her partner would be as desperate to be free of her and she was of them. 

They wouldn’t mean to do it, and they would be mortified if they understood how uncomfortable it would make her. They only wanted her to be happy. What they didn’t understand was that Hermione didn’t  _ need  _ their help in that particular area. She’d already found someone she wanted. 

All she had to do now was work up the courage to make things official. 

* * *

New Years Eve.

Hermione checked her charm-watch; ten o’clock at night. Allegedly. 

The watch was a prototype she’d never gotten around to finishing. She’d been working on it on and off for years with limited success. She’d based it off the Hogwarts Clock Tower, but packing in so many enchantments to such a confined space was almost impossible. This latest attempt wasn’t bad. It was usually only a few minutes off in either direction.

Either way, it didn’t really matter. She had the night all to herself, and nowhere else to be. The late hour would mean  _ most  _ of the students would be in their beds. The corridors were empty. 

Putting on the beautiful coat he’d given her for Christmas, Hermione went up to the battlements. Because it was New Years’ night, she took a bottle of Firewhiskey with her. This would be her first year at Hogwarts as a teacher. She wanted to toast in the New Year overlooking her favourite place in the world. 

She braced herself against the wall, looking out over the grounds. It was a beautiful sight. It was a frosty night, and windy, though the snow had melted. The moon was full, and cast the countryside with a thousand silver shadows. It might have been cold, if not for the Firewhiskey and her coat. 

As it was, Hermione was perfectly comfortable. This had become her favourite place to think, and she wasn’t leaving until she’d come up with  _ some  _ sort of idea on how to ask Lucius Malfoy out.

And she was going to have to ask him out. The sooner, the better. The idea of broaching the subject with him made her a little nervous, but their current state of ambiguity was far worse.

The issue was, Hermione didn’t really have much experience in these things. In fact, she had none. She had never dated anyone other than Ron. And she and Ron had never actually asked one another out. When she sat down and really thought about it, she realised that all they had really done was be horrible to one another for a few years, and then moved straight to snogging. 

That was  _ not  _ how she wanted things to go with Lucius. She wanted things to be perfect. She wanted to  _ feel  _ the right moment and take it. 

Unfortunately, Hermione wasn’t good at spontaneity. When would the right moment get here, exactly? Should she wait until the next time he called her brilliant or started not-so-subtly telling Tiberius how beautiful she looked in the Head Club, and then rush over to him and ask him out? Aside from the fact that she wanted things to be a little more structured, she didn’t want to risk being overheard. She really cared about Lucius, but she didn’t need everyone in the Wizarding world finding out about their relationship. Particularly if there was a chance, no matter how unthinkably remote, that he might actually turn her down. No. Privacy was best. 

Hermione wracked her brains. Could she write him a letter? He’d probably think it was really romantic. To her it seemed like cowardice. No. She had to do it face to face. 

This was where she started to really struggle. It was just so daunting, so new. What could she say? 

Maybe a rehearsal would help? Like learning a new Charm. You didn’t just use it in a fight for the first time; you got confident with it first.

Hermione knocked back the rest of her drink, set her shoulders, and coughed. She took a deep breath and fixed her gaze on the moon. 

_ Like anything else, practice makes perfect.  _

“Lucius, I want you to be my boyfriend.” Her voice sounded very small, so she tried to inject a bit more strength into it. “Go out with me.”

Hermione winced. God. No. Too abrupt. She had to make it a little more personal, surely? 

“Lucius, is there any chance you’d want to go out with me?”

This sounded a little better, but it was too vague. He’d take it as an invitation to go out on a walk together or something. And while that sounded really nice, it wasn’t what she had in mind. 

Her fingers rubbed the buttons of her coat. The metal was comforting, somehow. Hermione cleared her mind, and tried her best.

“Lucius Malfoy, I know you like me. I like you back. Obviously. Um… the way I feel about you is something I’ve never felt for anyone before. You’re clever, you’re interesting. You make me laugh. I think you might actually be good for me.” 

No. Oh God, no. How had she even said that out loud? She could never say it in front of him. Her cheeks were flaming. It wasn’t just the alcohol. 

She ran a hand through her hair in frustration. How did people  _ do this?  _ How did people know the exact right words to say, at the exact right moment? And yet, people did it all the time. Harry and Ginny had made something beautiful together. So had Hannah and Neville. They hadn’t had much experience either, but they’d made it work. 

Sometimes, Hermione felt as though she had missed a class. A very big, very important class that everyone else in the world had gone to. She made do as best she could with watching people and listening, but she still couldn’t quite shake the feeling that when it came to things like this, everyone else knew something that she didn’t.

Of course, this would all just be so much simpler if  _ he  _ asked  _ her  _ out. That seemed like the most logical thing to resolve this. She felt almost completely certain that he wouldn’t do it. He had expressed his interest, his willingness, and in doing so had put the ball squarely in her court. Her instincts told her that Lucius Malfoy would happily wait for years all in the name of good manners, while she stood tearing her hair out from wanting him. 

It was no use. This wasn’t an essay or an exam. Rather than wait for a perfect moment, or the perfect words that might never come, it might just be better to ask him as simply and as clearly as possible. She had to trust that he would understand what she felt. Even if she  _ wasn’t  _ as smooth or romantic about it as she might want to be. 

Lucius wouldn’t judge her because she didn’t get it completely right. They’d been through enough together, hadn’t they? He already knew. It was just a matter of setting clear, defined boundaries… Rules. So there could be no misunderstandings, no mistakes. 

And with that appealing thought, she made her mind up. The stillness had been what she needed. The forced change of perspective. She took another sip, feeling it light her up from within. 

She checked her watch. It was ten thirty at night. There was still time. She’d finish her drink and go find him. His hours were irregular. Unlike her, he didn’t seem to spend every night at school. 

She’d go down to the dungeons. If he wasn’t in his office, she’d write him a letter and tell him that she needed to talk to him as soon as possible, face to face. 

Hermione never got the chance. She heard the screech of the turret door opening just a moment before she heard the gruff, feminine voice.

“There she is.” 

Hermione turned and saw- The three of them.  _ Her  _ three. Lucius, Tiberius and Grubbly-Plank. 

“We have been all over the castle looking for you.” Lucius said, though he didn’t sound annoyed in the slightest. “When you weren’t in the library, I feared the worst.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help smiling. 

“What’s the matter?” Hermione asked, approaching them. She noticed how Lucius admired her in her coat. He might very well admire it; he’d gotten the measurements just right. “Is something wrong?”

Tiberius laughed. “Far from it. We wanted to spend the night with you. New Year’s night is important for Muggles. We thought you might want to celebrate it with friends.”

_ Oh bless them.  _

Hermione hadn’t mentioned anything, but they must have worked it out. She sometimes forgot how observant they all were. And how kind.

“I would love that.” Hermione said, smiling. “Thank you. I’m almost out of Firewhiskey though.”

Lucius smirked. “Fortunately, a very wise woman foresaw this exact moment…” And he reached into his robes and pulled out the bottle of brandy she’d gotten him for Christmas. 

And together, the four of them drank brandy and just enjoyed the night. Grubbly-Plank was thinking of writing another book and wanted her advice. Tiberius had a new tie to show her and Lucius… well, Lucius couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. She might have upbraided him on his lack of subtlety, but honestly, it never ceased to amaze her how such a handsome, elegant man could find her so attractive. She let it pass. 

The night grew later. The sound of a very against-the-rules New Year’s Eve party drifted up to them from the Gryffindor Tower, which they all steadfastly ignored. 

It wasn’t a conventional New Year’s celebration. It was only the four of them. There was no way she ever could have imagined, back in September, that this would be how she greeted the New Year. Even so, Hermione had everything she needed. 

Well, almost everything. But she had a plan to fix that. She just needed to get Lucius alone for a little while. Her eyes drifted to the turret roof, and an idea came to her in a flash. 

_ Perfect.  _

“I’m going up there.” Hermione announced, pointing to the roof. 

They all looked at her as if she was crazy. 

“But whatever for?” Tiberius asked anxiously. 

“I’m scared of heights.” Hermione said, as if that explained everything. And it did, at least to her. Tonight was a night for bravery. She was scared of heights? She would confront that fear. She was maybe a tiny, little bit nervous about asking Lucius out? She would confront that too. 

Best of all, Wilhelmina wouldn’t be able to make it up there, and Tiberius-

Right on time, Tiberius offered, “Well, if you’re set on it… I’ll keep Wilhemina company down here. A lady shouldn’t be unattended, after all.”

Hermione said nothing, hoping that Lucius would take the opportunity to offer, but the moment lengthened and Lucius only nodded and ‘ _ mmm _ ’d’. Tiberius stared at Lucius very pointedly. 

Hermione sighed. He wasn’t going to take the hint. “Lucius, are you coming up with me, or not?”

Lucius laughed, then realised she was being serious. 

“Up there-? Hermione. I thought you were joking. We will break our necks. I am too old to go climbing up on roofs.”

Hermione decided right there and then that she never wanted to hear Lucius Malfoy call himself old ever again. It really, honestly annoyed her. 

So she was perhaps a little bit snappy when she replied, “You’re a  _ wizard _ , Lucius. If you start falling, just float yourself back down here again.”

“If you are capable of that sort of charmwork while drunk, Hermione Granger, I am thrilled for you, but I myself-”

“Lucius.” She said very firmly. “You’re not really going to refuse to come with me, are you?”

He thought better of it. “No. I suppose not.”

“Besides,” Hermione added, “If you fall, I’ll catch you.” 

He had nothing to say to that, and so they left Grubbly-Plank and Tiberius behind. She led him inside the turret, and they began to climb.

“Hermione, need I remind you that apparition is impossible in Hogwarts? Even on the rooftops. I’ll not be climbing up and out of windows, I assure you-”

Lucius was visibly relieved when she pointed up at the stone ceiling. Dimly lit in the torchlight, they could see a ladder leading up to what looked like a particularly formidable trapdoor. 

“See? It’s not so bad after all.” Hermione said, and without waiting, started up the ladder. After a moment, she could hear Lucius start to follow her. 

She pushed the door up with one hand, keeping the other firmly on the ladder. Without giving herself a chance to think about it, she climbed up and into the night, and Lucius followed her. 

The extreme steepness of the rooftop and the power of the wind became immediately apparent, and she very nearly screamed as she pitched suddenly  _ sideways.  _ But she caught herself, bracing her left foot against the slope, and just barely managed to avoid falling several hundred feet to her death. 

Hermione very deliberately did  _ not  _ look down. One step at a time. She was here. That was the main thing. 

_ Look out, not down. Out, not down.  _ And over and over again, until she felt a little bit better. 

Still, this was really pretty dangerous, and she was starting to think she should have just made an excuse, any excuse, and taken him to the library instead. But then they would have missed out on this incredible view. If only it had been daylight, Hermione thought she might have been able to see all the way to Hogsmeade. 

Hermione let out a thrilled laugh as a rush went through her. The special sort of feeling you got from doing something that really challenged you. 

She cast a glance behind her and saw that Lucius had climbed up. He dug his cane into the tiles of the roof for purchase, and was actually standing on much surer feet than she was. Still, he did not look pleased. As far as she could tell with the wind whipping his hair every which way, at least. 

In a decidedly waspish tone, he asked, “Do tell me, Professor Granger, how exactly we are meant to  _ stay on the roof _ ?”

She thought it over, and the answer became clear almost straight away. 

Honestly. This was why he wasn’t the inventor. “An Adhesive Charm to your shoes should do it.”

He grumbled, but could come up with no retort. 

She motioned for him to sit down, and he did, with his usual feline grace. Moments later, she’d stuck him safely in place. He waited for her to join him, but instead she crossed her arms and tried her best to look menacing. 

“My plan is complete.” She said. “Lucius Malfoy, you are trapped. Like a cat in a tree. Finally, the Cup is mine, and the world is free of your-”

She couldn’t keep going. His eyebrows were climbing higher and higher, and she couldn’t help it- she burst into laughter. 

“Sorry- I couldn’t resist.” And she sat next to him. She conjured them a blanket, and he charmed their clothes against the cold. Soon, the biting wind was a distant memory. 

For a while, they said nothing. Just admired the stars. Even his ire couldn’t withstand such beauty. His grumpiness vanished completely when she conjured him up a long ribbon for his hair.

Totally without self-consciousness, Lucius began to work his hair into an elegant knot at the nape of his neck. She had to avoid staring at him too obviously. His hair was one of the most striking, most beautiful things about him. It made him so different. Not just the colour, but the length of it. Far past his shoulders, it was much longer than the hair of most muggle boys. They’d be too insecure to wear it so long. Hermione loved it. 

Lucius had left the last of the brandy down with Tiberius, but that didn’t matter. They didn’t need it. 

This… this was perfect, actually. She had a beautiful view, and she was alone with him. No disaster looming on the horizon, no real time limit. It was such a drastic, refreshing change. No dementors, no stress. Just two normal people alone together. 

_ Well _ , Hermione thought as she looked over the castle grounds,  _ two relatively normal people. _

This was a real opportunity. Not just to make things official between them, but to talk without worrying about being overheard or interrupted. Hermione had a list of things to ask him that was about as long as her arm. Tonight seemed as good a night as any to start working through them. 

In fact, if they were going to be starting out on a relationship… understanding one another would be more important than ever. 

A faint squawking reached her ears, and Hermione marshalled her courage enough to look down. 

Beneath them, Tiberius was trying to conjure up a chair for Grubbly-Plank. He was making a good go of it but Charms just wasn’t his strong suit. The chairs he made were sagging, sorry things, and he would summon up a new one only to refuse to allow her to sit on it. 

It was funny to watch, but she knew that Tiberius would be embarrassed. He always tried to take special care of Grubbly-Plank, whether the stoic witch asked for it or not. Drawing her wand out from it’s sleeve, Hermione watched Tiberius very carefully. She matched her motions to his, and just at the right moment-

Tiberius exclaimed with joy as the chair popped into existence before him. This one was perfect. Proudly, he ushered the Hufflepuff witch into her chair. 

It was sweet to see him so confident. Well worth a little bit of cheating. 

“You must not think too harshly of him.” Lucius murmured. “He is a good man, and a fine wizard.” 

“I know.” Hermione assured him. “Even if he is a little-”

She stopped herself, but Lucius finished it for her. “Silly? Yes, I suppose he is. It has not been easy for him. He is a wizard born too early  _ and  _ too late.”

Something about the way he said it prompted Hermione to ask Lucius something she’d wanted to know for a long, long time. 

Fighting the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she asked, “Lucius… where did the two of you meet, exactly?”

Lucius said nothing, and she knew. 

“He doesn’t seem like the type.” She said, quietly. 

As he looked down at his friend, Lucius’ expression was unutterably sad. “Like many others, Tiberius didn’t enter His service willingly. He was never allowed to leave the Manor. The Dark Lord didn’t trust him that far.”

Hermione said nothing. She had suspected for a long time. Voldemort had made a habit of targeting brilliant witches and wizards. Those he could not convert or at least press into service, he’d killed. It was a part of why he had been so successful. 

Lucius went on. “He hates himself for not doing  _ something. _ We all did, even then. That was His great gift, you see. He made us all hate ourselves for being too afraid to try. It ate us all alive. Our terror of Him, and our hate for ourselves.”

Lucius grimaced. “Tiberius… he helped me stay sane. He pretended that everything was fine. I needed that. Perhaps it wasn’t bravery that made him do it, but he helped me.”

“Maybe you should tell him that.” Hermione said. “Maybe he needs to know that he helped someone.”

Lucius thought it over and tapped his fingers on the serpent head of his cane. Finally, he nodded. 

Smiling a gentle smile, Lucius said, “I will. You’re right, of course.”

For a little while after that, they were silent. If Lucius had shown any resentment for the question, she would have felt really awful. Instead, his eyes drifted over the horizon. He was open, unguarded. Hermione admired that about him. 

Still, just to be safe, Hermione moved them onto gentler topics. 

“It doesn’t make a lot of sense, you know. Making Viktor the Slytherin Coach.”

“Is that so?”

“It is, actually. You may not have noticed it, but Viktor is… well, he’s in love with me.”

“How astonishing.” Lucius said dryly. “Hermione Granger, Viktor Krum has many talents and many strengths, but subtlety is not one of them. Even if I were an ignorant fool with no understanding of the human heart, I would know that Viktor Krum is in love with you.” 

Hermione’s nose wrinkled in confusion. “So why make him Coach? If I asked him to, he would do everything he could to make sure Gryffindor would win.”

He raised an eyebrow at this bold question. “Why on earth would I tell you that? It rather defeats the point of setting it all up, doesn’t it?”

Feeling cheeky, Hermione said, “Because I want to know.” 

“I see.” Lucius smiled in a flash of white teeth. “Well then, of course I will tell you.” Conspiratorially, he leaned closer to her and said. “There were two factors that led me to ask Viktor Krum to Coach the Slytherin team.”

“I’m listening.” She prompted. She was grinning. He had a way of turning anything into a story. 

“The first, of course, was his remarkable flying. I could think of none better for the position. He is, I think, one of the few fliers I have ever seen who could best Ginny Weasley.”

“Just because he’s a better flyer than her doesn’t mean he’ll be a better Coach.” 

“Of course you are right. Time will tell whether his leadership and teaching abilities can equal hers. Still, I stand by my choice as him as the obvious candidate.”

Hermione certainly agreed with that. “And the other reason?”

“Quite simple, I’m afraid. Viktor Krum  _ is  _ in love with you.”

“How could that  _ possibly  _ help Slytherin win?”

Lucius thought for a few moments before answering. “There are wizards in the world who will make fools of themselves to make the women they admire laugh. Viktor Krum is no such man. He will want to prove he is worthy of you. He will do everything within his power to show you his cleverness, his strength, his honour. He will work night and day without tiring. That is the sort of man Viktor Krum is.” His eyes grew a little sad, and Hermione worried. Surely Lucius didn’t think that she would ever choose Viktor over him? Just as quickly as it had come, the sadness passed and he was himself again. 

“As for what you mentioned before… yes, bringing him on was a calculated risk. It’s true that Viktor would throw every game in the world at one smile from you. But you are a woman of honour. You would never use a man’s love for you to further your own interests. And so you see, between Viktor Krum’s love and Hermione Granger’s sense of right and wrong, I have every confidence that Slytherin will be victorious.” His gaze settled on her, and she felt something jump, right beneath her skin. 

Now, it was his turn to give a cheeky smile. “And that, I believe, is checkmate, Professor.” They locked eyes. Hermione’s heart was racing. 

Hermione scoffed. “It most certainly is  _ not.  _ There’s still one game left in the season for each of us. Our points are nearly equal.”

“And now Viktor Krum Coaches the Slytherin team. I should count myself lucky Tiberius doesn’t care for Quidditch. He would not be my friend any longer, after Slytherin crushes Ravenclaw in the last match of the season.”

“And Gryffindor will beat Hufflepuff.”

“I am sure you will, but fortunately for me, Hufflepuff are better flyers this year than Ravenclaw. Ginevra will have to come up with something truly remarkable, even by her standards, to bridge the gap.”

Hermione said nothing and finally tore her eyes away from his. 

Far beneath them, Grubbly-Plank and Tiberius were chatting. Hermione couldn’t hear the exact words they were saying, but she didn’t need to. They were animated, cheerful. 

Hermione asked quietly, “We’ve done pretty well for ourselves, haven’t we?”

“You are too generous. We both passed the torch to better candidates after our very first match.”

“I don’t mean in Quidditch.” Hermione said, sounding crosser than she really was. She waved a hand at the castle. The sky. Them. Everything. “I mean with this. Everything’s turned out so much better than I thought it would.” 

“You sound almost disappointed.”

“I’m not. Just… surprised. This is all I ever wanted, but I never thought I’d have it. What about you? This can’t be what you planned. Toasting the New Year with me. I know I didn’t expect any of this when I first came back.”

“No, I suppose not. Like you, I consider myself very, very lucky.”

“Do you, though?” Hermione found she could not lift her eyes up from her feet, all of a sudden. “Don’t you regret…”

“Regret what?”

“Losing, I mean. The war.”

Lucius said nothing for a moment. 

_ Tiberius and Grubbly-Plank had been shooting the pair quick glances ever since they’d gone their own way. Unfortunately, the angle made the couple almost impossible to see without being too obvious about it.  _

_ In a low, urgent voice, Tiberius remarked, “I say, Wilhelmina, haven’t they been up there for a long time? What on earth could the two of them be talking about?  _

_ “Hush, Tiberius.” Grubbly-Plank said, and Tiberius was immediately quiet.  _

Meanwhile, Lucius had collected his thoughts.

With complete conviction, he told her, “Hermione, I don’t consider myself as having lost at all. I believed myself to be on the same side as you for some time. Powerless, useless, but on the same side. The day Harry Potter defeated Him, we all won. I have nothing to regret, except having supported him in the first place.”

Lucius didn’t call him the Dark Lord any more, Hermione realised. It was a deliberate avoidance. He couldn’t quite bear to call him by his name, but he wouldn’t show him the ‘respect’ of granting him his title either. 

“Can I ask you something that might be a bit private?” She asked. 

“You have seen me at my worst and at my best, I think. I expect you may ask me anything you like.” 

“If you felt like that, if you really wanted him to lose so badly, why did you do it? Why did you join up with him?” 

Once, such a question would have put him on edge. It probably would have broken any intimacy between them. As it was, it only deepened it. She was taking a step forward. It was up to him to come to meet her. 

He hesitated, and she could see that he was trying to find the words. 

“Was it because of your upbringing?” She asked, reasoning that this would be the safest bet. It only made sense that he would have been raised, as Sirius had been, to despise Muggleborns. To believe that he was a superior being. 

“Not in the way you’d think.” Lucius said eventually. “They didn’t lead me to the Death Eaters by the hand. That idiocy was my own choice.”

“They?”

“My mother and father.” Lucius folded his hands in his lap. The pain in his voice was plain to hear, and she almost told him that it didn’t matter. She didn’t need to know. Not really. She knew that he had changed. That would be enough.

He must have seen what she was thinking because he shook his head and went on, “I won’t have you thinking they forced me into it.”

This was a real surprise. “Your parents believed in Muggleborn rights?” 

“No. At least, I know my father did not. I learned my beliefs of Pureblood Supremacy from him, that much is true. I don’t mean to say he wasn’t a bad man. He believed in everything the Death Eaters believed in. But to actually  _ join  _ them? To throw the whole of society into an uproar, persecuting millions of people? He would never condone anything so crass. My father… my father considered Him to be nothing more than an upstart and a madman. If nothing else, it was a mercy that the Pox took him before my involvement with the Death Eaters became public knowledge. I think the shame of what I had done would have been a far crueller fate for him.”

Hermione frowned. “If your father didn’t want you to join the Death Eaters… did you do it to spite him?”

“No. Far from it. I thought I was doing the right thing for our people. Madness, now, but then I believed it. I believed in it as I have rarely believed in anything.”

The way he spoke made Hermione understand something about Lucius that she’d never understood before. 

Slowly, she said, “You thought you were a revolutionary.” 

He smiled. It was a bitter, twisted thing. “I did. For years, I truly did.”

It wasn’t easy to put it into words, but she tried anyway. “I don’t understand. Did you hate the Secrecy Act that much? Did you hate muggles that much? If you’d been caught, it would have meant Azkaban. Why would you risk everything you had to join the Death Eaters?”

“No. The Secrecy Act was only a part of what motivated me. Hate played its part too, but it was more than that.” Lucius went quiet for a little while. “I don’t mean to offend you, but I want you to understand. Let me tell you a story of the first muggle my great-grand-father, Brutus Malfoy, ever met.”

“My great-grandfather was being taken by  _ his  _ father to meet a Muggle of some wealth who was a mutual business partner. My family, as you may have guessed, had no qualms with violating the Secrecy Act if it would increase our fortunes. He invited Lord Shacklebolt, who back then, was actually his superior in Pureblood society, along with him. It promised to be a  _ very  _ profitable meeting.”

“This muggle was quite taken with Lord Shacklebolt. Almost as soon as they’d met, he asked my great grand-father where he had gotten his slave from. Said that he was remarkably good stock, and wanted to breed more like him. Offered him a great deal of money for him, as a matter of fact.”

Hermione was so ashamed, so appalled, that she couldn’t speak for a while. 

“My father loved that story. He told it to me countless times. I was a good listener. By the time I was a young man, he’d told me many stories like it. I learned how the Suffragettes were imprisoned and tormented merely for resisting the tyranny of muggle men. There were… many other stories I will not repeat now. I considered all muggles to be barbarians. The idea that at any moment we could be exposed to them, that they would pollute our society with their ways, absolutely terrified me.”

Very quietly, she finally said, “Muggles have done awful things.” 

“As have wizards. I don’t mean this as a slight against you, or any muggle still living. It was no excuse to do what I have done. I wish I had looked beyond those stories to see what muggles are like now, as a whole. I would have been a better, wiser man. It is only in recent years that I have begun to practice the art of thinking for myself.”

Thoughtfully, Hermione said, “Muggles say that most hate comes from ignorance. If that’s true, it makes sense that knowledge is the cure.” 

“I am inclined to agree with you. It would explain why you are above hatred; you are too clever.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” Hermione said. She hadn’t been fishing for a compliment. “I just mean- I think it’s why I became an inventor. I wanted to make the world a better place without getting into politics or becoming an Auror.”

“And so you became a teacher. I understand.”

Hermione smiled. “I promised myself I would do it. There are all sorts of different ways to bring about change. I thought teaching would be the most efficient way.” 

Was that why Lucius had come to Hogwarts? To teach Pureblooded students a better way? Whatever his reasons, she was glad he’d come. Thinking about what her life might be like him made her shudder. 

Not bad, or sad, necessarily. She’d been happy for many, many years before she’d found him. Just… less colourful. Less joyful. She might not have ever realised what she was missing, but her life would still have been all the poorer without him. 

Beside her, Lucius was lost in his own thoughts. “So. An inventor, a teacher, and one day…” He turned to her with a challenging expression, “A Headmistress?”

Shocked, she refused to answer. He chuckled at the look on her face. “Why so embarrassed? It is a fine plan. I look forward to seeing you accomplish it.”

Still, Hermione said nothing. It was indeed her eventual plan to become Headmistress. She wanted to shape the world, to make it a better place for children like her. Being Headmistress was one of the best ways she could do that. Of course, if it never happened, that would be fine too. She would be perfectly happy with being Charms Professor. She was good at it. She loved it. But if she could be more,  _ do  _ more… 

“I don’t like talking about it.” She admitted. “People want to give me things the second I ask for them. Because of what happened in the War. The way that some people look at me...” 

It was disturbing. She had shut herself in for months after the War. She wasn’t exactly a perfect person, and if she was totally honest with herself, a part of her enjoyed being looked up to. Being admired. But the extent to which people had taken it… it had been totally overwhelming. Hermione could only imagine how Harry must have felt. How he must still feel. 

It had been one of the biggest factors that led to her becoming a full-time academic, in fact. She couldn’t bear the idea of working directly with others. Luckily, things had calmed down now. Somewhat. 

Lucius cocked an eyebrow. “Is it so wrong that people should want to give you your due?”

“But it  _ isn’t  _ my due. Not in the way that people think. What we accomplished in the War was something a lot of people did altogether. I can’t skip ahead. I want to earn what I have.”

“A noble aspiration.”

“You don’t agree.” She said.

“I’m afraid not. You undervalue yourself. Consider what you’ve done. Your creations are already recognised as some of the most valuable contributions to wizardkind ever made, and those were made  _ after  _ the War. Flattery and sycophancy didn’t help you make the Joy Stone-”

“And that’s  _ exactly  _ my point. Weaponising the Joy Stone was  _ your  _ idea. I didn’t save the world, Lucius. You did. But because people won’t listen when I tell them, they think it was my idea, they think you’re making it up-”

“Hush.”

Hermione looked down at her leg, where he had laid his hand on hers. She realised her voice had been growing shrill. 

He didn’t remove his hand. She seized her courage and entwined her fingers with his. 

He was very calm when he spoke again. “This only upsets you. Don’t think on it.”

“But it’s not fair-” Hermione said. She didn’t care that that made her sound naive. It  _ wasn’t  _ fair. “You should care. I don’t know why you haven’t said anything. I know how much reputation matters to you. If people knew, it could change everything for the Malfoys.”

“What do you want me to say to them, Hermione? That I was so enraptured by your creation, that it was so powerful and beautiful, that it overcame me? That is all I can lay claim to. That is the last thing I can remember before I lost myself. You are like you imagine your admirers to be; you lay the credit where it doesn’t belong. Besides, it is my own fault. If I hadn’t over-stated what I had done, they  _ might  _ have believed.”

“But-”

“Hermione, please. The creation is yours. Anything I did with it, I did by mistake. Let’s leave it at that.”

Feeling very angry that he refused to let her help him, she said nothing. His hand squeezed hers, very gently. When she looked up at him, she saw nothing on his face but patience, and his feelings for her.

The sheer, authentic tenderness of it… it was just otherworldly. How could she ever have considered him duplicitous? In every way that mattered, Lucius was honest to a fault. 

“I believe that muggles have a tradition.” Lucius said firmly, putting the issue of the Joy Stone to one side. “Of making resolutions for the year to come. Have you any of your own?”

“I’m going to become Deputy Headmistress.” Hermione said, without thinking, and immediately regretted it. In five years time? Perhaps. But in her very first year teaching-? Impossible. She’d do it anyway. “What about you?” 

“I want to spend more time with my family.” Lucius said. “As much time as I can.”

Hermione only squeezed his hand, but what she was thinking was;  _ I’m here.  _

“What I have done has left its mark on Draco.” Lucius said. “I know that. I should be grateful even to be allowed to see either of them at all. But I am not a grateful man.” Lucius sighed ruefully. “I have more than I could ever rightfully wish for, and still I want more.”

Hermione struggled. In the end, her hopefulness won. “People can forgive. You’ve changed. He’ll see that.”

She didn’t know if that was true, but stranger things had happened. Draco wasn’t stupid. There was a chance that he might put aside the past and move forward with his father. She also knew that no matter how likely that was, Lucius would need to hold onto it. 

Indeed, Lucius did seem reassured. “I would love to introduce you to Scorpius one day. He is a sweet boy. I know you would love him.”

“I would love to meet him.” Hermione said emphatically. 

Lucius gave a pleased little hum, and leaned back a little to take in the stars. 

Looking into his eyes, Hermione knew that this was it. 

Her skin felt cold, clammy. Nerves. She still didn’t know the right words to say. Hopefully, it wouldn’t matter. 

_ Just do it. Now or never. Come on, be brave, be brave, be brave... _

“Lucius,” Her stomach was tying itself in knots. Some of that was the whiskey and the brandy. Only some. “Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

His eyes widened in surprise, but only for a moment. He turned back to her with a tender smile. 

“Hermione, I thought you would never ask.”

In that moment, the sheer drop beneath them was nothing. Hermione felt a powerful, reckless urge to jump up and cheer. 

Instead, she took the slightly less risky option and scooted over. It wasn’t very dignified, but it gave the Adhesive charm something to stick to and prevented her from falling to her death. 

The difference between their heights made it impossible for her to lay her head on his shoulder. She laid her head on his arm instead. At least, she did for a second. His arm went around her waist and pulled her against him and Hermione’s heart could have burst. 

Lucius opened his mouth to say something, only to be interrupted by a terrible, ear-splitting yelling.

_ “Ten! Nine! Eight!” _

The sound had come from the Gryffindor Tower. It was so loud that Hermione started, even though she’d been expecting it. Lucius jumped near out of his skin. 

“I have heard of this tradition.” Lucius said, relaxing. “And of one another.”

As he said it, Lucius Malfoy’s eyes fell to her lips and Hermione’s heart stopped beating. 

Did he mean…? Kissing in the New Year?

More youthful voices took up the countdown. “ _ Five! Four! Three!” _

Her mind was racing, racing, as all sorts of visions came to mind. His mouth on hers. Her fingers entwined in his beautiful, moonlit hair. His arm pulling her in closer. Her hand on his throat again... 

_ “Two! One!” _

Midnight. The Gryffindor Tower erupted into cheers. They banged on the windows and, by the sound of it, let loose a small elephant in the Common Room. 

The moment passed, and Hermione still had not moved. 

She couldn’t do it. A social convention as their first kiss? What if he felt obligated to do it? It would be totally unethical. 

While she was deep in thought, Lucius Malfoy bridged the gap and kissed her. 

The kiss was soft and simple, and it drove her out of her mind. Her eyes closed. Her whole world narrowed down to just the rooftop, just the two of them. Just his lips on hers, and his hand cupping her cheek-

Lucius pulled away. Hermione took a long, shuddering breath. 

“I hope that wasn’t unwelcome.” He said. “I thought, well- given the circumstances…”

She didn’t even try to fight the goofy grin she could feel spreading on her face. His face creased in a dear, answering smile, and he rested his forehead against hers. 

_ Just how good is this adhesive charm, anyway?  _ She thought to herself. 

There was only one way to find out. Hermione Granger was, at her heart, an academic. It was practically her  _ duty  _ to find out. 

The Gryffindors threw open the windows and set off one firework after another. It was mayhem. Flaming cartwheels, showers of sparks, roaring lions. Lucius Malfoy was lit up in gold, violet, and every colour of the rainbow. He was laughing in open wonder at the display. She couldn’t hear him amidst all the noise, but it didn’t matter. 

Hermione didn’t think she’d ever seen anything so beautiful. 

She pulled him in for another kiss. This one was all passion. All longing. Her fingers traced his cheeks and she deepened the kiss. Somehow, he pulled her in closer, and she breathed him in...

In the sky, a fiery dragon danced. The witch and the wizard didn’t notice. 

They had other things to be thinking about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, what did you think? 
> 
> I honestly could have worked on this chapter forever. It's just one of those. But I knew that if I kept fiddling with it, I'd never stop! 
> 
> As I've mentioned, this chapter is the end of Part One, and I won't be updating for a few weeks at least. I love this story, and I adore you all, but I need a bit of a break. I also need to write some lovely new chapters, which I think you are all going to get a real kick out of!!
> 
> Thank you for reading, reviewing, leaving Kudos, subscribing, bookmarking... everything. You guys are just the best. 
> 
> I hope that this year is better for everyone, and that you all stay well until I see you again for the first chapter of Part Two!


	15. Small Steps and a Good Book

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, I hope you've all been keeping well!
> 
> Thanks for being so patient while I was writing this up. There are some really fun chapters coming our way!!! Read on and enjoy!
> 
> A massive thanks to my beautiful editor as always, Jessari, you're a legend.

Things were going well. At least, as far as Hermione could judge. Their schedules were full at the best of times, but sharing the same workplace provided them with plenty of opportunities. 

They ate every meal together. It wasn’t much, but Hermione loved it. There was something wonderful about sharing those little moments with him. Him, and three hundred other people. Mealtimes became one of the highlights of her day. Mornings, especially. Hearing the little bits of humour he had been forced to wait a whole eight hours to tell her. Going over the morning paper and laughing, or scowling, at the world. Reading the ‘upcoming works’ section of the paper, pointing out particular essays and books they were looking forward to. 

For now, it was perfect. Unfortunately, when it came to their future, Hermione really had no idea what to expect or of how to get them there. 

For all intents and purposes, they had come from two different worlds. If Lucius Malfoy had been a muggle, she would have known how to make him happy. She could have bought him an Xbox for his birthday, gone to football matches with him. She could have looked forward to Valentine’s Day flowers and chocolates, or perhaps a weekend away for anniversaries. She had no such background knowledge when it came to Lucius. 

Culturally, at times he seemed almost… Victorian. All the things she associated with dating would be alien to him. She couldn’t even begin to guess what his expectations might be. All the background knowledge that other people took for granted, she didn’t have. 

What if witches and wizards had some sort of significant date on their calendars, and she missed it and let him down? What if there were particularly meaningful gifts she should be giving him that she didn’t even know about? 

One morning, she realised that there was even more to this than she’d considered. It wasn’t just magical heritage that divided them; it was class as well. Would he even enjoy the kind of dates she’d like to take him on? Would he be bored? What sort of dinner was she supposed to take Lucius Malfoy on that could possibly meet his standards? 

Hermione was aware of the possibility that she might be overthinking this. Even so, the idea of making Lucius unhappy by being a bad girlfriend, even if only by mistake, was so distressing that she didn’t really care. 

She couldn’t ruin this chance with him. What they had was really precious to her. The last thing she wanted was to squander this through an ignorant mistake or misunderstanding. 

It finally reached the point where Hermione was worrying so much that she couldn’t focus on her schoolwork. It was her day off and she only had a few more essays to mark, but she just couldn’t do it. Her mind kept coming back squarely to the issue of her and Lucius dating, and how on earth she was supposed to stop everything from falling apart. 

She put her quill away, made a cup of tea, and really thought about it. Just on time, Crookshanks bounded into her lap and began to purr. All the conditions for a really good brainstorming session had been met. 

At that moment, Hermione realised that she had no idea if purebloods went on dates  _ at all _ . How long would they normally date for, before proposing? Did they just get married straight away? She honestly had no idea. She hadn’t known many traditional purebloods in her time, and those she had hadn’t said much about romance. 

She could always ask Tiberius, she supposed. He was a pureblood  _ and  _ an aristocrat. But that would invite a thousand questions she absolutely did not want to answer. And for all his eccentricities, the Ravenclaw was dangerously intelligent. He was also, bless him, a shameless gossip. As much as she knew Tiberius adored both of them and would never  _ deliberately  _ do them any harm, she knew that such a secret would be very, very difficult for him to keep.

In the end, Hermione did what she always did. She went in search of a book. 

* * *

Hermione knew the contents of Hogwarts library back to front, and therefore knew that they had nothing on pureblood romance traditions. She supposed she should have seen that coming. It wasn’t really the sort of thing a student needed to read about. 

Instead, she went to Flourish & Blotts.

Annoyingly, it was filled with people. It was a beautiful sunny day, and while it was cold, the wind was mild. The bookshop was packed with students who had finally decided they couldn’t get away with sharing one another’s books anymore, parents in need of a treat, and her, desperately trying not to be noticed with one of the most recognisable faces in all of England, hanging around the historical section, which consisted of only a single bookcase. 

It was, naturally, the least busy part of the store. 

A young wizard in a suit that didn’t fit him very well took pity on her. “May I help you, Miss?”

Bless him. She wasn’t exactly a Miss anymore. But at that moment, she didn’t care. The young man had neatly interposed himself between her and most of the crowd. As far as she was concerned, he could call her whatever he liked. 

In a low voice, Hermione replied, “Um… yes. I’m looking for something for my research.”

His eyes widened and he became somehow even more earnest. “Right. Obviously. Well, the charms section is over there, we have a really good new book on experimental twin-core wand enhancements-”

“That sounds really good, actually, see if you can put one aside for me, thanks- but that’s not what I’m looking for today. I was wondering if you have any books on pureblood traditions? Specifically, romance traditions?”

The shopkeeper gave a confused frown and repeated, “Romance traditions?”

“Yes.” Hermione said. “That’s right.” 

“Um.” If possible, the young man somehow looked even more awkward than she felt. “Well, if that’s the sort of thing you’re looking for, you can’t really go past  _ The Estate of Lady Fawley _ . Sort of a classic. And if you want something a little more recent, there’s  _ The Ardent Passions of a Pureblood Lady. _ ”

That sounded like the exact sort of thing she did  _ not  _ want to read. “I’m not looking for anything too graphic. Just something to help me understand pureblood courtship. If you could get a few books together you think might be suitable, and that one on wand cores you were talking about earlier and send them to me, that would be wonderful.”

The young man seemed to be re-evaluating his opinions on the world. “Okay. Where shall I send it?”

Where else? “The Hogwarts Owlery, please.”

* * *

She might have traumatised him for life, but the young wizard had done his job. Less than an hour after she returned to her office, she heard a little tap at the window and let her owl in. Atlas bore his burden with stubborn pride; the eagle owl never gave up. Seven books, including the Charms textbook. Thankfully, _The_ _Ardent Passions of a Pureblood Lady_ was not among them. 

Hermione devoured them all over the course of the next few days. They were no more than a few hundred pages each. She had to admit that some of them were very good.  _ The Witch and the Vampire _ was probably her favourite. She’d had a hard time putting that one down. 

Whether or not any of it in any way represented how a modern pureblood would actually behave was another matter altogether. Intrigues, scoundrels, liberally sprinkled with a few steamy chapters. That was to be expected from romance novels of any kind. There were coded messages in the forms of bouquets. The wizards would throw themselves down on their knees to recite poetry while the witches gave lengthy critiques. 

Those made a sort of sense to her. Flowers as an expression of love… both of their cultures had that in common. Poetry, that universal nurturer of romance, that made sense too. 

But then there were the riddle-duels. The hopelessly convoluted system of bowing and curtseying that indicated different levels of attachment. Two of the books had ended, incomprehensibly, in long, drawn out marriage contracts. Word for word, in exhaustive detail. Hermione could only shake her head. Surely purebloods didn’t really do this sort of thing? It had to be an exaggeration, or perhaps a trend of the times the books were set in. At least, she certainly hoped so. 

All things considered, the books had been a complete waste of time. She still had no idea how she was meant to cultivate the sort of relationship she wanted with Lucius. 

Hermione sighed. It wasn’t a completely unhappy sound. 

She’d ended up with more questions than she'd started with. But at least she had good books to read. 

A knock sounded at the door. 

“Come in.” Hermione called out without looking up. 

Lucius Malfoy let himself into her office, and she immediately wished that she had simply pretended she wasn’t in. Or, at least, that she’d tidied up beforehand. 

Sure enough, Lucius’ grey eyes fell on her desk. Right where her copy of  _ The Witch and the Vampire  _ was sitting. 

Hermione’s heart stopped. 

Hermione told herself not to panic. He had no idea. There was absolutely no reason to assume that he would know what it was. The wizarding world had thousands upon thousands of books in circulation. She just had to remain calm. Pretend that nothing out of the ordinary was going on. 

In a very level voice, Lucius said, “I can come back some other time.”

Oh god. 

Oh  _ god.  _

She stammered, “No, I’m not busy.” 

He knew. He absolutely knew. Lucius had not taken his eyes off the book. The damn thing was screaming to be noticed. Hermione was trying very hard to remind herself that reading adult books was nothing to be ashamed of. What she read in her personal time was no-one’s concern but her own. 

Easier said than done. 

“It is unimportant. I will see you-”

Wanting to die, she asked, “No, honestly, what was the matter?”

“It is Miss Pryor.” Hermione knew her. A Gryffindor. She was a smart girl but she had a huge chip on her shoulder. “She is not handing in her essays. If I give her any more detentions her grades will suffer, but she won’t listen to me. I was thinking perhaps a word from her Head of House might do the trick.”

“Right. I’ll do that. Was that everything?”

“Yes, thank you.” 

Lucius turned to go, and Hermione sighed. “Lucius,” she said, biting the bullet. “I really like you. I want this to work. I just don’t have a lot of experience.” 

“Experience…?” He let it hang there, but he was looking very awkward, all of a sudden. About as awkward as she felt. Somehow, that gave her a little bit of courage. 

“With dating.” She offered. “I only ever dated Ron. I’ve never dated…” 

An aristocrat. An older man. A Pureblood. 

“So you thought you’d research it.” He said, filling in the blanks. “And study how best to be in a relationship with me.”

Put like that, it  _ did  _ sound a bit silly. “Um… yes.”

“I see.” To his credit, he did not say anything further. Instead, he pulled up a chair and sat down opposite her. She felt the distance between them close and suddenly felt very silly.

“What do you think we should do?” She asked. 

“Me? I don’t have the slightest idea. I think we’d be better off making our own way, Hermione. Our situation is something of an unusual one. Perhaps we should simply do what comes naturally to us. After all, it’s gotten us this far.”

“You aren’t worried at all?” Hermione frowned. 

“I am sure we will stumble here and there, as has every witch and wizard before us. Particularly while we are only beginning.” He reached across the table and she took his hand without thinking. “All we must do is our best. If one of us ever needs something from the other, we could always simply ask.” 

He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, and she drew strength from it. Lucius was right. They’d been lucky. They cared about one another, and knew the other cared back. A lot of people would envy them purely for that, let alone everything else. 

“That sounds like a really good idea. But we have to keep things fair.” A marvelous idea struck her. “Why don’t we make a schedule?”

Lucius cocked an eyebrow. “A schedule?” 

Hermione was totally caught up in the excitement, and didn’t hear the skepticism in his voice. “For dates. That way neither of us gets left out, and we can explore one another’s cultures.”

“I suppose.” Lucius said slowly. “If that would make you feel comfortable?”

“I think it would. Thank you. Now, while we’re on the subject, what sort of thing  _ do  _ you like to do on dates?”

“That is a very interesting question. I have done my own research into muggle courtship, though not as, ah,  _ thoroughly _ as you have. I don’t think I have been on what you would consider a date for a very long time. I enjoy flying, horseback riding, dancing…”

Hermione hated two out of three of those things. It didn’t matter. They already knew they had plenty in common. She was sure they could find plenty of things they would both enjoy. 

“Lucius,” She said. “I hope- I don’t want to be rude, but is there any chance we could- until we’re sure…”

She hated even asking. It felt like such a low, cowardly thing to do. More than anything, it felt immensely disrespectful and unkind to Lucius, who had only been good to her. She shouldn’t be keeping him a secret at all. 

But life was complicated, and she couldn’t bear the idea of disappointing her parents. Or worrying them. Lucius was a good man. She knew that, but her parents didn’t. She could only imagine how they would react when she told them that she was dating a man their age. They would be well within their rights to be concerned for her. They had no reason to be, but they didn’t know that. 

“I won’t say a word to anyone about our relationship. You have my word.” Lucius assured her.

“It’s just that I don’t know how my parents will react. They’re a bit protective.”

“We will go at your pace.” Lucius said, again. 

“Thank you, Lucius.” Hermione said, and really meant it.

Lucius was struggling with something of his own. “Hermione,” he said, “there is something I should tell you.”

He took in a deep breath, and Hermione was very afraid all of a sudden. 

Was he having second thoughts? No, he couldn’t be. His heart was in this just as much as hers was. He hadn’t given her any reason to doubt that. 

Something worse, then. Was he… was he not well? 

Just when she thought he was going to remain silent, he said, “I am not Lord Malfoy.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Incredibly, he repeated himself. She hadn’t misheard. 

“What do you mean, you’re not Lord Malfoy?” She asked. 

“I mean, I’m not Lord Malfoy anymore. In public, I keep the role. But when Draco and Astoria had Scorpius, control of the family passed over to him in all but name.” 

She didn’t say anything, but apparently her completely confused expression told him that she needed more of an explanation than that. 

Being Lord Malfoy was a huge part of who Lucius was. He was an aristocrat, and a pureblood one at that. She couldn’t imagine  _ why  _ he would ever give that up. 

“It’s a Malfoy tradition. Draco has had his Heir, Hermione. It’s not our way that he should wait until he is an old man to come into his birthright. It is how we have maintained our strength for so many centuries. Smooth, careful transference of power. Draco won’t blunder through his first few years, making enemies and squandering opportunities. Instead, any mistakes he makes are my fault. He will not be held accountable for them. This way, when he takes control publicly, he will be accustomed to leadership.”

“But…” Hermione tried to put her thousand questions and objections into words. She failed. He seemed to understand. 

“It was this way with my own father. When… when he died, I was able to assume control, having already been fully prepared.” 

Hermione didn’t say a word. She was too busy thinking. 

“I am sorry.” He said. “I have been wanting to tell you for some time, but it is… not something that is talked about with outsiders. If it were to get out, Draco’s standing would be ruined. He would be vulnerable.” 

The look on his face was reminiscent of a dog expecting to be kicked. He was afraid. Of her. Of how she would react to this.

Perhaps he should be. Lucius had kept this from her. He had known that it was wrong, but he’d kept it from her anyway. That was a betrayal of trust. It seemed so stupid that a man who had trusted her with his life felt that he couldn’t trust her with information. 

But he  _ had  _ told her. They had only been dating for a few weeks, and he had told her. He had given her information that could harm Draco, his child. She couldn’t fault him for not telling her straight away. Not really. 

Hermione examined all these facts, added them altogether, and came up with her answer. 

“So you’re sort of… like a figurehead? Like the Queen?”

The tension bled out of the room, and Lucius smiled weakly. “I suppose.” He said. “It is why I am here. I would have no time to teach otherwise. I have not had to attend board meetings or speak to advisors, for months now. Draco handles everything, leaving me free for… this.” He waved a hand to encompass the room. 

It made sense, in a way. She’d never actually thought about it, but if he had to run the Malfoy empire, he probably wouldn’t be able to do his job as Potions Professor very well. Business wasn’t something Hermione was particularly interested in, but she could imagine how much work it would take. 

It also probably gave him the time to pursue a relationship with her. Hermione, in part, probably owed her relationship with Lucius to Draco. 

Urgh. That was a strange thought. 

Instead of saying all this, Hermione nodded. “You must be really proud of Draco.” 

It was a peace offering. Lucius knew that, and grasped it with both hands. 

“I am.” He said. “He does very well.” 

“That’s good.” Hermione said, meaning it. Despite her and Draco’s differences, it was good that he was doing the Malfoy name credit. 

There was something she was curious about, though. Something from the novels she’d been reading that had stuck with her. 

“Speaking of tradition… Do Pureblood wizards… do you really read poetry to witches you like?” Hermione asked. 

Lucius laughed incredulously. “That particular tradition has not been in fashion since the days of my youth. As a gentleman, it was the standard. A man had to prove that he could do more than fight and make money. He had to prove he had a heart, too.” 

She’d expected as much. The books really hadn’t been a fair reflection of modern day romance. It only made sense. But she still felt a pang of disappointment. 

“Oh.” She said. 

Lucius studied her. He pursed his lips thoughtfully, but he didn’t seem disturbed. Instead, he seemed quietly pleased.

“A gentleman can also take a hint, Hermione Granger.” Lucius said, and suddenly the room seemed very small. “Would you like me to read poetry to you?”

She tried, and failed, to speak. A knowing smile curved Lucius’ lips. He leaned forward, resting his chin on interlaced fingers, not saying a word. The whole of his attention was one her. It felt like a physical weight. It was far from unpleasant, but it was also very embarrassing. 

She went very, very red, and tried to call Atlas over as a distraction. When the bird ignored her, she tried to make them up a pot of tea. She forgot where everything was, got even more flustered, and in the end Lucius had to make it for her. 

Only he could pour two cups of tea, add milk and stir without breaking eye contact. 

Pointedly, he asked, “Would you prefer I recited a particular favourite of yours? Or shall I compose one in your honour?”

He was smiling now. A small, secret smile that she saw on him very rarely. 

It was really the last straw, and Hermione gave up entirely. She hid her face behind her tea-cup. 

“Do tell me when you have made up your mind.” She heard Lucius saying. Though she could not see his face, she  _ knew  _ he was grinning. “I will be quite rusty, and poetry reading is quite an art.”

* * *

Finally, the invitation they had all been waiting for arrived.

Hermione and a few of Neville’s closest friends were invited to see the newest addition to the Longbottom family. Hermione knew that it was an honour to be asked; the wizarding world made a big deal of new mothers in particular. Only particularly close family and friends would be allowed anywhere near a young family. 

Tiberius, ever considerate of Grubbly-Plank, was using one of his highly illegal Portkeys to transport both himself and Wilhemina directly to Hogsmeade. Lucius and Hermione were walking. It was a beautiful day, cold but sunny, and they were enjoying the chance to be alone together. 

The walk to Hogsmeade was uneventful. Hermione hardly said a word and just soaked in the luxurious feeling of being alone with him. Once they reached the village, she headed to a florist to get something for Hannah with Lucius in tow.

With the help of the shop assistant, Hermione picked out a bundle of brightly colored sunflowers, daisies and tulips. She had no idea what Hannah liked, so she tried to get something that radiated joy. 

Lucius seemed a little confused by this; flower giving wasn’t wizarding tradition under these circumstances. Hermione explained that Hannah would love it, being raised by a muggle mother.

Hermione looked over the bouquet with a smile as they set off for their friend’s house. It was a small thing, but it was far from the only thing the Heads had planned for the young couple.

* * *

Hannah and Neville had made their home in an old, run-down farmhouse that Hannah was always having to fix up with her charmwork. 

It was the only farmhouse in Hogsmeade and somewhat off the beaten track, being about half an hour’s walk from the main village itself. The main thing that had drawn the young Longbottom’s to it, aside from its rustic charm and many bedrooms, was the nice plot of land it was on. A few hectares had been more than enough motivation to overlook a leaking roof, bad plumbing and a sooty old kitchen, apparently. 

Lucius opened the old gate for her. Hermione stepped into the main garden with real wonder. Apparently Neville had been using his paternity leave to turn his home into a paradise.

The garden was as meticulously planned as his greenhouses. It was far from ordinary, though, even by the standards of a wizarding family garden, in that magical and non magical plants were often side by side. Lavender, foxgloves, hydrangeas, and a dozen other beautiful varieties grew around a great wiggentree. A curving cobbled path led to the main house.

The farmhouse itself was still the ramshackle old building that Hermione remembered. Brown stone and single story with a thatched roof. To one side was the barn, which Hermione knew Hannah used for her art, and Neville used to grow his countless varieties of mushrooms. 

The sight of it made her smile. It looked so… homely. 

She’d made a lot of good memories in this house. Playdates with Lana and Amelia. Exploding Snap and Twister nights with Harry, Ron and all the rest. 

The weekend Hannah found out she was pregnant with Lana, Hannah had bribed the three of them to come over and help her turn the dilapidated farmhouse into something appropriate to raise a child in. For two weeks, they’d had home cooked meals, copious amounts of alcohol, and had laughed themselves half to death every day. 

They reached the doorstep. A trellis of crystal roses framed the door. That was new. Their petals dripped with condensation. A gift from Neville to Hannah, perhaps, or just his own taste? She would have to ask him. 

Lucius knocked as quietly as possible, and Hermione worried that no-one would hear them. But a moment later, the door swung open. 

Neville stood in the doorway and Hannah stood beside him. She looked much more solemn than Hermione had ever seen her. The young witch had her flaxen hair worked into a thick braid that fell to her waist. 

Neville, on the other hand, was grinning fit to burst. “Come in, you two.”

Lucius and Hermione didn’t move a muscle. Lucius had coached her on this on the way there. 

“Our family welcomes you.” Hannah said. 

The conditions were met; both parents had invited them in. They stepped into the threshold. 

Lucius gave the young couple a smile. “Thank you. We are honoured.”

Something about the way he said that seemed to imply that the two of them were a unit, but luckily neither of the Longbottoms noticed. Hannah had launched into scolding Neville, who was rubbing his head sheepishly. 

“Neville, you idiot, you got it wrong. Your grandma’s going to be furious.”

“I won’t tell her if you won’t. Anyway, who cares about all that old stuff? They’re here to see Michael!” Neville winced. “Oh-! Sorry, Lucius.”

“It’s quite alright, Neville.” Lucius said. “And you are right; we are here to see Michael, after all.”

Hannah relaxed, and Hermione realised why she had been nervous. Hannah was a halfblood. She’d wanted to do this right, but she  _ would  _ have been worried about Lucius, a traditional Pureblood. She obviously didn’t know him very well. 

Neville and Hannah led them to the sitting room where everyone would be waiting. It was just as charming as she remembered; with beamed ceilings, sash windows and a double fireplace. They’d all been there before, so there was no need for a tour as such, though Hannah promised to show them the nursery later. 

Grubbly-Plank and Tiberius were already there, but it looked as though they hadn’t been there for long. Their cups of tea were still steaming and Grubbly-Plank hadn’t sat down yet. 

In the middle of the room stood Lana. Neville’s daughter looked even more serious than usual. She toddled towards them, holding a little baby in her arms.

“Our baby boy.” Hannah said in a voice overflowing with pride. “Michael.”

The young girl lifted him up, straining under even this negligible weight. 

Lana said, “This is my brother. He’s only little. Don’t drop him!”

The Hogwarts Head of Houses all looked at one another. There was a hushed, though quite vicious, fight as to who would get to hold the child first. Hermione cheated, and so she won. 

With great care, Hermione took Michael from his sister. He fit into her arms perfectly. She cradled him, looking down at his sweet face. 

The little boy was only six weeks or so old. Michael had his father’s round face, and his mothers flaxen hair. His eyes were blue now, though that might change with time. He looked up at her, filled with thoughts she could never understand.

She cooed to him, and he smiled a gummy smile. 

The smile gave her peace. A contentment that spread through the whole body. This could be her, one day. A family. A baby. Boy, girl, it didn’t matter. What she wanted was a family of her own. Someone to nurture, and love. 

“He’s amazing.” Hermione declared. “I love him.”

Hannah and Neville smiled, and with great reluctance, Hermione passed the child to someone else. 

Hermione noticed that Hannah was looking at the flowers with nervous hope in her eyes. She’d passed them over to Lucius unthinkingly when she’d taken Michael. 

“Are those…?”

Hermione gave her an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Hannah, I got distracted. They’re for you. Congratulations!”

“Oh, thanks so much, Hermione. No-one’s given me flowers. They’re beautiful.” She took the bouquet from Hermione with a wide smile and sunk her face into them and breathed in. Hannah smiled dreamily. 

Hermione gave Lucius a triumphant look. He gave her a small smile in acknowledgement.

_ Score one for me.  _

* * *

After everyone had met the baby, the traditional gift-giving began. 

By Longbottom tradition, the witch of the household was in charge of the family. The wizard’s responsibility was to take care of the house and property itself. 

Interestingly, Lucius told her that this was essentially how the Malfoys did things, though the Longbottoms were a bit more lax in their interpretation of the tradition. 

She’d asked him what exactly being in charge of the house meant, if it wasn’t the same thing as being in charge of the family. To her, who’d been raised as a muggle, they were essentially the same thing. 

_ “Does that mean he has to do all the chores- No, that wouldn’t make sense. You’ve got House Elves for that. So what does the wizard do, exactly?” _

_ Lucius had looked a little offended by this. “Managing the estates, generally, if the house has any. The household defences are his responsibility, as household maintenance should be. If what you are saying is true, Hannah handles that. It is not unheard of to bend tradition in such a way, where appropriate.” _

_ “What about if the decision involves the house  _ **_and_ ** _ the family? Who gets the final say there?” _

_ He’d twisted his lips in his version of a shrug. “A husband and wife can always come to agreements on such issues, when they arise. In my experience, most problems tend to fall in one category or another.” _

_ “But what if they don’t?” _

_ “If in doubt, a gentleman yields to a lady.” _

_ She’d smiled.  _

Since they were the second group of people to meet the baby, they had their own gifts that tradition dictated they were to give the young family. 

Hermione thought it was a fantastic idea. It seemed far more sensible than everyone showing up all at once and giving the new couple a thousand baby blankets. 

It was their job to give Hannah a baby diary and an enchanted baby mobile. The baby diary hadn’t been particularly difficult, but the mobile had taken Hermione  _ days. _ If he was sick, it would give a warning rattle. The little stars and moons changed colours depending on what Michael needed. If he was hungry, they would turn green. If he needed attention, they would turn red. 

Hermione was particularly proud of that. Love, it turned out, was a very difficult thing to pin down. 

Hannah and Neville were thrilled and hung it up over Michael’s crib right away. 

Neville’s gift was a bit more complicated; a protective barrier around the house. By tradition, it had to be tied to the Longbottom line.

It had to be simple enough that Neville could do it, but still a suitably impressive and useful gift. 

This presented the Heads with quite a challenge. Bloodline magic was very old, little understood and dangerous in inexperienced hands. Luckily, they had Lucius. When it came to ancestral magic, his charmwork was the best out of all of them. And with good reason. Where Hogwarts, and most modern magic, relied on general protective charmwork, Malfoy Manor was covered in ancestral magic, blood magic, and everything in between. As Narcissa’s husband and as Lord of the Manor, the upkeep of those spells had been Lucius’ responsibility. 

Because of his experience, she’d let Lucius pick the spell. 

Lucius had decided upon a barrier that would filter out negative influences and minor hexes. He explained the whole thing to Hannah and Neville, who were looking a bit nervous. Hermione understood their anxiety. She’d felt much the same way when she’d worked on the barriers around Hogwarts. Her own failure aside, there was a lot that could go wrong with barriers. On paper, they were extremely useful and could be tailored to practically anything a witch or wizard wanted. In reality, they could do more harm than good if not done properly. 

She snapped her attention back to Lucius, who was still talking. “The best barriers linked to bloodline take weeks to create and are somewhat… volatile. We won’t be using such magic today. Here, take these,” Lucius gave Hannah, Neville and Hermione a small round stone each, keeping one for himself. “Instead of using blood, we’ll tie the magic to these stones. One for each of us.”

It would take time. A barrier covering that much land would be a real challenge. As they worked, Wilhemina and Tiberius stayed in the front garden to take care of the children. They all sat together on a great patchwork quilt. When they left, Lana was teaching Tiberius how to conduct a tea party, using various dolls as props. The Arithmancer listened in attentive silence. Michael was sleeping in Grubbly-Plank’s arms. The old witch might as well have been a statue. 

Hermione was quietly jealous, but knew that as a charms witch, she was needed for the barrier. 

By necessity, they split up to place boundary stones around the property. The Longbottom’s bit of land wasn’t exactly square, of course, so they chose locations that were as close as possible. Being quite large, they had to communicate by patronus, or by shots of colour fired into the air.  _ Proceed to the next stage. Wait for further instructions. Start from the beginning. _

By the time they were finished, they were all tired but proud. Hannah and Neville especially. As they walked, Lucius was telling Neville all about the various protections he could place on the house. 

“I’ve got an idea for the garden.” Neville was saying. “My grandmother’s house had a Devil’s Snare patch that looked like a rosebush. The thing is, I remember falling in it loads of times and it never hurt me. I didn’t know the trick for it or anything. Do you think I could do the same for my garden?”

Lucius gave a pleased hum. “I imagine so. I’ve always liked that kind of magic. I expect I could find a few spells that would do nicely. Not Devil’s Snare, of course, it is too widely known these days. We would have to think of something a little more… exotic.”

When they came back to the garden, they saw the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw had prepared a serving tray with some juice and water. Bless them. It was a cold day, but hard work had a way of making you thirsty. 

Neville and Lucius were still chatting about the barrier. She’d rarely seen Lucius so at ease. She stored the information away. Lucius Malfoy loved garden parties. 

She couldn’t help listening to them. She’d been dwelling something on their way back. Something that seemed very obvious to her, but which no-one else had brought up. 

“Couldn’t someone just break the stones?” Hermione asked. “I mean, they don’t exactly look obvious, but they’re still vulnerable.”

Hannah frowned, and Hermione immediately felt guilty. They were here to help, not to worry Hannah and Neville. 

Lucius rushed to reassure her. “Hermione is right, of course, but not to worry. There are ways to conceal them, even from dowsing magic. If you would like, I would be happy to visit another day and show you how it can be done.”

“Thank you, Lucius.” Hannah said simply, and Hermione smiled.

* * *

An hour or so later, Hermione left everyone else in the kitchen to join Lucius in the living room. 

Lucius sat in an overstuffed armchair with Michael on his lap. Hermione pulled over a chair to sit beside them. It said something for his fascination with the child that Lucius didn’t think to do it for her. 

“He is  _ so  _ sweet.” Hermione breathed. Lucius made a ‘mm’ of agreement and dipped a hand into his robe, bringing out a little vial of transparent liquid. 

“A present for you, little man.” Lucius said softly, and he upended the contents over one hand. His hand immediately started to shine; starry silver, periwinkle blue, emerald green, and all the colours in between. 

Michael’s eyes  _ lit up  _ and he squealed, waving his chubby arms and gurgling with joy as Lucius moved his hand in gentle spirals through the air in front of his face. He gave his nose a soft little tweak. Tickled his belly. Poked his chubby cheeks and just  _ played  _ with him. 

Hermione laughed, though she tried to keep it down. Babies had that effect; even when they were awake, it was nerve-wracking to think that she might disturb him. 

Watching them together was honestly one of the cutest things Hermione had ever seen. Lucius looked so… content. The gentle, sweet smile on his face made her heart want to burst. She could have sat there for hours watching them. 

Unfortunately, Hermione wasn’t willing to do that. She had come here with two goals in mind. The first was to respect magical tradition and honour Hannah and Neville, which she thought had gone pretty well. The second was to love Michael, and to have Michael love her. Hermione was the favourite person-who-isn’t-mum-or-dad of quite a few little children, and she  _ refused  _ to let Lucius steal her spotlight. 

In the kitchen, she could hear Tiberius saying,  _ “Did you see the way he tried to catch my monocle? What a clever young man. He’ll be a Ravenclaw, mark my words.” _

Hermione brought out her wand with a flourish. A moment later, she had conjured a dozen butterflies. The largest with wings the size of her hand, the smallest only the size of a thumbnail. She sent them fluttering around Michael in little loops, silvery dust falling from their wings. 

Michael chased those butterflies until he’d absolutely exhausted himself. He drifted off on Lucius’ lap, little fingers curled up by his shoulders. 

Hermione and Lucius shared a delighted glance that somehow lengthened into a stare. His eyes were  _ shining _ . She felt herself leaning into him, just a little, and he shifted ever so slightly to welcome her… He didn’t seem to be breathing. She didn’t think she was, either. 

“Oh. Oh Merlin.”

Hermione and Lucius turned swiftly to see Neville standing in the doorway. 

The Gryffindor looked from one of them, to the other. His mouth moved soundlessly as something dawned on his face. Understanding. 

“You two-!” He raised a trembling hand to point as the realisation hit him. 

“Neville, keep it down.” Hermione pleaded. 

“The two of you-! What? How long-? Really-? This is…” Neville swayed on his feet all of a sudden, and Hermione was suddenly worried that he might faint. 

“Deep breaths, Neville.” 

The Herbologist obeyed, and after a little while, started to recover from the worst of the shock. 

“My best friends are in love!” Neville said. Tears were shining in his eyes. He looked so proud, so absolutely  _ thrilled _ , that all Hermione could do was soak it in. She hadn’t known just how much she needed a friend to approve of her and Lucius’ relationship until that moment. Now, it was the most precious thing in the world.  __

Right up until she realised  _ exactly  _ what Neville had said. She felt the skin of her face prickle with embarrassment. 

_ Love.  _ That was a word that she and Lucius hadn’t said to one another, and here Neville was, blurting it out like it was nothing. Very loudly. 

She resisted the urge to look at Lucius and hissed, “Neville, please keep it down.” 

The Herbologist frowned. It didn’t suit his innocent, open face. “But I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t you want everyone to know about it?”

“It might come as a bit of a shock to some of our family and friends.” Hermione said, tactfully. 

“I suppose so.” Neville said, though he obviously didn’t seem sure. “Well, if you want, you know, some  _ private time _ -” and here Neville stopped to give them a  _ very  _ bad wink, “you just let me know, alright? We’ve got a spare bedroom.”

_ Does he… does Neville think we’re teenagers? _

“Thank you, Neville.” Lucius said in a very solemn voice. “We appreciate that.”

Hermione wasn’t sure Neville even heard. He was still joystruck by the knowledge of their relationship. He was back to staring at them, beaming. 

_ Well, if nothing else, we know Neville’s on our side.  _

At this point, Wilhelmina let herself into the room. 

“Hand him here.” Grubbly-Plank said irritably. “Don’t keep him all to yourself, Lucius.”

Lucius knew a lost battle when he saw one. He relinquished the baby without a word. 

* * *

The walk back from Neville’s was lovely. 

The sun was just starting it’s journey down to the horizon, but that didn’t make it any less beautiful. They gave Hogsmeade a wide berth, which made the walk longer than it should have been. Hermione couldn’t have been any happier. 

They had plenty to talk about. Lana and Michael, of course. They were safe subjects, as long as they avoided the topic of which one of them the children liked the most. Luckily, Lucius had other things in mind. 

“Do you have anything planned for next Saturday?” Lucius asked.

Breathlessly, Hermione said, “Oh, yes. I’m going through my journals. I’m going to see if I can make a finalised version of my telescope, maybe work on my charm-watch. Then I’m going to the library; I want to ask Madam Pince again if she’ll let me withdraw a copy of Figglewort’s  _ Compendium of the Fantastical and the Worrisome _ . Honestly. I’ve tried telling her that her shelves are  _ filled  _ with books I wrote and that she ought to trust me with it, but she just won’t budge…”

He said nothing, only smiled tightly. She asked, “Why do you ask?”

“I believe, according to our schedule, the honour of arranging our first date is to be mine. Since next Saturday is spoken for…”

A date? Lucius wanted to go on a date next week? 

Babbling, Hermione said, “No, no! It’s free. The whole day is free. That would be lovely.”

He smiled. “Well, then. We shall have to wait. And you shall have to trust to my apparition; meet me at Hogsmeade at eleven o’clock in the morning, and I shall take you there.”

_ Meet at Hogsmeade, and apparate from there? _ Hermione wrinkled her nose. “Why not just meet… wherever it is?”

He laughed; a warm, low thing that made his shoulders quake. “Because, Hermione, it’s going to be a surprise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And FINALLY, we've met the Captain of the Ship! Neville Longbottom, my sweet baby. What do you all think? I really hope you enjoyed this chapter as it was a blast to write!
> 
> I don't think we'll be able to do weekly updates for a while, I've come up with some fun new chapters (thanks again to the readers who helped) but the one downside is that I've got a lot of writing ahead!
> 
> For next chapter, we have their first date! Where do you think Lucius will take her? ;)


	16. A Very Important Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a bit late, but this chapter ended up being about... 2.5k longer than I ever expected? I really hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> By the way... I'm not sure if I mentioned this before, but this story is over 100K now!! Amazing! Also... I know this isn't a huge amount by the standards of most fics, but Come and Go Room has hit over a hundred subs on both ff.net and A03. I'm absolutely thrilled. This is by far the most well-liked thing I've ever written and I'm honestly so grateful to have you all on board and hear your thoughts!
> 
> That all being said, let's get into it!! Their first date!!

The day drew closer and closer. The anticipation was absolutely delicious. It was also completely frustrating. 

True to form, Lucius was categorically refusing to give her even the slightest hint of where he was taking her. Hermione made guesses. She whispered them to him when they were alone or, if the suspense was simply too much for her to bear, during particularly loud parts of mealtimes. 

Hermione reasoned. She pleaded. She fluttered her eyelashes, which she thought she was getting pretty good at. All to no avail. 

Mostly Lucius would just tell her to be patient. Sometimes, he’d have a little more fun with it. He would part his lips in shock, put a hand to his chest, and wonder aloud how she had ever guessed. Then he’d grin, and she’d know. 

She couldn’t stay angry with him. That was the problem. He was just too good-looking. She would tell herself that she’d scold him the second they were alone, fully intending to follow through, but she never did. They would be alone and he would kiss her, run a hand through her hair, or ask about how her students were doing, and that would be the end of it. 

Before she knew it, their date was just around the corner, and so far the only thing he’d told her was that if she was serious about wanting their relationship to be kept a secret for the time being, she had better wear a disguise. Since that was the only tidbit he’d given her, she seized upon it.

If nothing else, she knew that wherever they were going, there would be other people there. 

For her disguise, she chose an illusion she had used to wear when going about her day. After the War, when all she had wanted was to apply herself to her craft and be left alone, and all the world had wanted was another photo of Hermione Granger. This illusion had been her solution, and she slipped it on now like an old, familiar jumper. 

Hermione had put a lot of work into it. This was no mere Polyjuice. It would last for hours. She hadn’t stolen anyone else’s face either; she’d built this illusion from scratch. A dozen different Charms woven together, perfect from every angle.

It was distinctly analogous to her real self. Still petite, still with curling brown hair that fell to the middle of her back. The illusions eyes were just like her own; bright and sharp. There were some differences, but the final result was that of a girl who might expect to be told, often, that she looked a lot like Hermione Granger. 

That was good. At the very least, she wanted Lucius to be able to recognise her. 

Her disguise was ready, and was free to spend the remaining days performing her duties, stealing time with him, and wondering where he would take them. 

* * *

They met at Hogsmeade at eleven o’clock. To be safe, Hermione had put on a dark cloak with a deep hood. Not knowing whether their date would be amongst muggles, wizards, or both, she had chosen a pantsuit and sensible, low heels. That way, if wherever they were going necessitated standing on her feet all day, she could still be comfortable. 

Of course, none of this sort of forethought would be necessary if Lucius had just been a little more upfront about the whole thing. 

From behind her, she heard the cry. “There you are!” 

Hermione turned, and saw him. 

Lucius’ robes were a brilliant sapphire blue. Where they parted, she could see that he wore a tailored muggle suit of the same colour underneath. He wore dark glasses, but they were the very small, fashionable kind which in no way covered his face. His striking platinum hair had at least been pulled back into a sort of bun, and bangs fell down his cheeks, but the colour could belong to absolutely no-one else but a Malfoy. 

He looked drop-dead gorgeous, powerful, rich… and instantly recognisable. 

Hermione restrained the urge to tug her hair. “Lucius, I thought you were going to wear a disguise.”

Lucius gave her a bewildered look. “And I am. I  _ never  _ wear blue.”

Oh dear. 

Well, he’d honestly tried and besides, blue was a fantastic colour on him. No matter where they were going, Hermione was reasonably confident that her boyfriend would be the best looking man there. 

She smiled up at him fondly. “Alright, then.” She said. “Where to from here?”

In answer, he held out a gloved hand. Ever mysterious. 

She took it, and off they went. 

* * *

The apparition was elegantly done. Hermione wasn’t used to being taken side-long, but even so, she only felt the slightest  _ tug  _ in her belly before they arrived. 

Hermione’s shoes crunched on gravel. She caught herself, and cast a long, slow look around her. 

The path they’d landed on was straight and wide and surrounded by manicured lawns, flower-beds and topiaries. Immaculate and totally artificial. In the distance Hermione could see lush, dense woodland. 

Ahead of them was a building. It was grand, and it wanted everyone to know about it. 

Hermione wasn’t an architect, but even she could tell that the tall building was ancient. It was made of dark stone and covered in ivy, with sweeping arches and long, narrow windows. It was very nearly a castle. 

From this, she could piece several things together. 

One, the fact that Lucius had apparated them directly onto the grounds of… wherever this was, probably meant that this wasn’t a wizarding house. If it  _ was  _ a wizarding house, it had to belong to someone who knew and trusted Lucius very well. No-one else would allow someone to apparate directly outside their house, particularly with a guest in tow. 

Second, she was pretty confident that they weren’t in Scotland any longer. The weather was distinctly milder than what she’d gotten used to over the last few months, and the land around them rose and fell in gentle slopes, rather than dramatic, windswept crags. 

Third, they weren’t alone. Though she couldn’t see anyone, upon marble pedestals and plinths scattered upon the path were a strange assortment of items. Crystal goblets, cigarette cases, and vases. Hermione would have bet money that they were Portkeys. Either that, or a very  _ odd  _ art installation. 

So. They weren’t in Scotland. They weren’t necessarily in a magical house, but they wouldn’t be the only magical people there. Whoever was hosting them certainly understood magic, though, because they’d obviously gone to great lengths (and expense, Hermione thought) to make sure that everyone could get home comfortably, whether they were proficient with apparition or not. 

Interesting. 

Hermione said, “Alright, Lucius. Now I’m  _ really _ curious.”

He smirked. “Then we are off to a good start. Let’s go on.” 

They set off for the main entrance together, him to her left. An antiquated show of respect and good manners that she’d known about even before reading her romance novels; if a witch’s wand hand was her right, a wizard always walked to her left so he could defend her better. If a witch was left-handed, then vice versa. Hermione didn’t mind it. It didn’t particularly bother her that she was objectively a more proficient fighter than he was. It felt… right. 

What she didn’t like was how distant they felt from one another. Not emotionally, they hadn’t felt emotionally apart for a long time. Physically. Just walking side by side like a couple of acquaintances. 

She slipped her hand into his. Lucius jumped and looked down at their entwined fingers with almost comical surprise. She let his hand go, missing the warmth and strength of his hand immediately. 

“Don’t worry, Lucius.” Hermione teased, trying not to feel hurt and mostly succeeding. “I won’t bite.”

But really, she was confused. It was only hand holding. She’d expected a certain amount of… well, prudishness, from him. Their night on the rooftop had been pure fire, though, and so she’d happily disregarded that assumption. So why this aversion to hand holding, then?

She’d come to understand that Lucius wanted to take things slowly. They’d gone no further than kissing, no matter how passionate. She would wait as long as it took. What they had was worth it, and she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. 

Still… if Lucius wasn’t comfortable with public displays of affection, that  _ would  _ be a shame. There was something really nice about being close to the person you cared about while out and about. 

“It’s not done in public.” Lucius explained delicately. “If we are attacked, I’ll need my wand hand free.” 

_ To protect you _ , were the unsaid words. Hermione knew what he was getting at anyway. Honestly, that was really sweet. But totally unnecessary. Tradition was fine, but she didn’t want it to get in the way of being close to him. 

“Lucius, weren’t you the one to tell me that there aren’t any dark wizards left in the world?” She said, teasing before turning serious. “You don’t have to hold my hand if you don’t want to, but you’ve got nothing to be afraid of.”

He mulled it over, and silently reached out his hand for her. She took it, a warm feeling spreading through her. Much better. 

The immense doors hung open in an unspoken invitation. Lucius and Hermione stepped inside.

They came into a grand hall flanked by a double-sided staircase. A chandelier dripped crystal down from the ceiling to brush the floorboards. Gilded portraits hung on the walls, but they were either the muggle kind or just empty. Everything was in rich, warm hues; gold, red, mahogany. 

It  _ screamed  _ opulence in a way that Hogwarts did not. Hogwarts drew its prestige from its history, this place from sheer excess. It should have put her on edge, but Hermione was nothing if not adaptable. She’d spent time at the Ministry, after all. She was used to lavish decor and while this was certainly outside of her comfort zone, it was nothing she couldn’t handle. 

At one foot of the staircase stood a group of witches in formal dress. Their lips were moving, but Hermione couldn’t hear a word they were saying. A  _ muffliato _ ?

A witch and wizard appeared at their side, seemingly out of nowhere. Hermione almost panicked, but they only took Lucius and Hermione’s cloaks and left without a word. Servants, then. They made no acknowledgement of Hermione’s thanks other than the smallest nod of the head. 

“Okay. We’re here. What next?”

“See for yourself.” Lucius said, and handed her what resembled a small, elegant dinner menu, only instead of prices, a set of times, fifteen minutes apart, were listed in a column along the side. 

_ A hat purported to belong to Merlin. Referenced in Galwain’s Chronicles of the Fantastical.  _

_ Eight millimeters of A Most Effective Potion for Envoking Magicke, commissioned by the muggle Aleister Crowley. Certificate of Authenticity provided.  _

_ The incomplete works of the hedge-witch Marigold of Northumberland, numbering two hundred and forty seven pages.  _

_ The tooth of an unborn Vinewing dragon, weighing fifty grams.  _

_ The Memories of the magizoologist Briar McKenney from his time among the Selkie tribes in the Celtic Sea, the Mountain Trolls of Nepal, and the Vampires of the West End.  _

_ A men’s hair comb, found in the house of a maid formerly in the employ of Corvinus Gaunt. Dated at approximately one thousand years AD.  _

Hermione realised. 

This was an  _ auction.  _ Lucius had brought her to an auction. 

Hermione flipped the page with trembling fingers. 

The list went on and on. Every item as fantastical as the one before. A seedling from a Singing Tree, about a foot and a half tall. All but extinct, it was said to produce spectacular wand wood, particularly for enchanters. Hermione hadn’t realised you could actually  _ buy  _ a Singing Tree anymore; just the blossoms. Even they were prohibitively expensive. 

Looking at the ‘menu’ was like the doors to a great treasure trove were opening right before her eyes. There were a few items, obviously, that she discounted as being rubbish or simply not up her alley. The vast majority of everything else, though, could be absolutely  _ crucial  _ to her research.

_ What could I do with a wand made out of the wood of a Singing Tree? And those Memories… priceless. Years of immersive, cultural experience. Nothing missed. The journey of a lifetime taken by one of the best magianthropologists of the age.  _

And then there was Marigold. One of the few Dark Age witches who they knew very much about. The vast majority of all English weather magic stemmed from her work, or something that one of her daughters had come up with. 

She read that little passage over and over.  _ Incomplete works.  _ What did that mean? Had they pieced together a few spells or diary entries, or was it something more tangible? Would it even have anything that Hermione hadn’t seen before? It didn’t matter. 

Hermione didn’t consider herself to be a very sentimental person, but she didn’t have a heart made of stone. The idea of touching something written by one of the most important figures in Old English witchcraft was mind-blowing. Could greatness imprint on parchment and lay dormant for hundreds of years? 

Lucius was giving her a strange look, and suddenly Hermione became aware of a strange whistling sound, like a kettle on the boil. It was coming from her. With difficulty, she swallowed down the noise. 

As calmly as she could, she asked, “Um, Lucius? How did you find out about this place?”

“I was invited. I am Lord Malfoy, at least in public. To not invite me to an event such as this would be insulting.” 

“Right. Of course.” Hermione said faintly. And then promptly forgot where she was and stared down at the list again. It had a magnetic pull that was almost impossible to resist. 

It didn’t last long. Lucius was talking, and Hermione forced herself to focus, “-at least something might have caught your attention. If we bid conservatively, I see no reason why we can’t secure at least an item each.”

_ One item? How could I ever choose only one?  _

Lucius must have seen it on her face, because he said, “Ah. I see. Well, the bidding is about to begin, shall we go on?”

Hermione followed his gaze and saw that the elegant witches at the staircase were being led away by the same servants who had taken their coats. Another waited patiently for her and Lucius. They followed her through the house. 

She’d imagined an open space with rows of chairs and a podium. Instead, they were brought to what Hermione recognised as a private library, it was lined with books but had a podium at one end instead of a reading desk. 

Hermione counted less than a dozen other guests. Some stood alone, some in small groups. The different groups stood apart. Some pretended not to notice Hermione and Lucius enter the room. Some, she saw, wore domino masks. 

_ Purebloods, surely.  _ She thought.  _ No-one else could make being discreet so obvious.  _

No-one greeted Lucius by name, which sort of annoyed her. She’d almost been hoping that  _ someone  _ would call him out on his complete failure to come in disguise.

That wasn’t to say that their entrance was unnoticed. She could see people casting glances at them, hear the barest murmurings of conversation from those who’d chosen not to use a  _ muffliato _ . 

Lucius ushered her onto a divan and sat beside her. 

“Are you interested in anything in particular?” Hermione asked, to pass the time. To distract herself from the nerves rising up in her belly. 

“The hair-comb would be my first choice, though I may not have enough for it.” 

Hermione frowned. Out of all the things he could’ve chosen, he would really pick the hair comb? 

It’s not as if she didn’t understand. The time frame, the fact that it had been found in the house of a Gaunt maid… There was a real chance that the comb  _ could  _ have belonged to Salazar. It just surprised her that out of a whole selection of items that could be so useful, so interesting, he would choose something purely for its historical value. 

But then, she supposed, perhaps they weren’t that different after all. She would gladly pay a fortune for a chance at Marigold’s works. Salazar Slytherin meant a great deal to many people, and Lucius was one of them. It made sense that Lucius would want it. 

What  _ didn’t  _ make sense to her was the idea that the bidding would go so high that Lucius couldn’t afford it. Hermione knew the Malfoys were rich, even by the standards of Purebloods. She’d seen Malfoy Manor, after all, and that was probably only the tip of the iceberg when it came to the family fortune. It was hard to imagine anything that might be out of Lucius’ price range. 

She asked, “Will bidding go that high?”

Lucius explained, “I imagine so. I must be careful. Draco won’t be pleased if I empty the entire family vault in a day, even for the sake of something that might have belonged to Salazar.”

“Probably not.” Hermione agreed. “What else?”

He didn’t hesitate. “The potion. Any relic of Crowley’s is a worthwhile investment.”

The potion. It had been the one item on the list that had seemed really out of place to her. “Sort of strange, isn’t it? Since he was a muggle? I’m surprised any wizard would want something of his.”

“Crowley might have been a muggle, but he understood the theories of magic as well as any wizard. Better than most, in fact. It is only that none of it worked for him. Any number of his magical acquaintances could have done the final bit of wandwork to make the potion legitimate.”

Well, that changed things. If that was true… the potion might actually work. A potion for granting magic to muggles? 

The applications were endless. So too were the questions. If the potion really could give magic to a muggle, what would it do if a witch drank it? Would it increase her power? Cancel it out? Do nothing at all? 

Hermione had a think about it. Witches and wizards (and informed muggles too, she supposed) had been trying to invent a potion like this one for… well, forever. They never worked. At best, they were failures. At worst, scams. If this one did actually work, what about it made it work? Could she figure it out? Could she replicate it? 

Hermione realised she had been staring off into the distance, lost in thought. She glanced at Lucius, quickly, trying to see if he’d noticed. 

He was looking at her and smirking. She smirked back at him. He laughed, and everyone turned to glare at them. Apparently, having fun was  _ gauche _ . She didn’t care. Lucius slipped an arm around her, and the auctioneer came into the room. 

He wore a muggle suit, though very old fashioned. His hair was greying, but for a wizard, he was still in the prime of his life. His back was straight, and he took them all in with the cool friendliness of a professional. 

“Good afternoon, ladies, gentlemen, honoured guests.”

Hermione said hello right back, and then felt like an idiot because no-one else said anything. She felt her face prickle with embarrassment. Lucius’ hand found hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. 

The man went on, “We all know why we’re here, of course. Before we begin, I’d like to take a moment to remind you all that the use of hexes, curses, jinxes, or mind control charms of any sort is very much against house rules and will result in immediate expulsion from the auction.”

_ Mind control? Curses? _ Hermione gave Lucius a shocked look, which he didn’t notice. 

Hermione hadn’t felt the need previously, but she did now. She reached into her robe, touched her wand and moved it in the barest motions of a  _ muffliato.  _ A second later, they had privacy.

She asked him, “Lucius, people don’t really curse one another at these sorts of things, do they?”

“But of course. You’d be surprised at how many witches and wizards have gone missing after these sorts of gatherings. Or forget who and where they are.”

That wasn’t very encouraging. Hopefully everyone played by the rules today, though if not, Hermione was sure she could protect them both. 

With the warning out of the way, the auction began. Luckily, the first few bids were for items that Hermione wasn’t particularly interested in, which gave her a good opportunity to watch and learn. 

It didn’t do her much good, at first. The strange paddles she’d seen on tv as a young girl weren’t used here. Instead people raised hands or wands in a rapid stream that everyone else could obviously understand, but was alien to her. 

Lucius must have noticed her confusion, because he whispered in her ear, “One finger means five thousand. The more traditional witches or wizards may flick their wands like  _ so.  _ Two fingers, or a wand raised, means ten thousand.”

Even watching was hard work. It was also thrilling. Hermione looked at the clock. It would be another half an hour until the bidding for Marigold’s works started. She squirmed in her seat impatiently.

Half an hour. It might as well have been an eternity. 

* * *

“Aleister Crowley’s Magic-Envoking Potion. The bidding starts at ten thousand galleons.”

It was the first item that was really special, and the mood in the room electrified. People sharpened, somehow. Leaned forward, became predatory. 

Hermione and Lucius’ eyes met. Sparks flew. 

It was on. 

Their wand hands both flew up at once. 

“Twenty thousand galleons!” The auctioneer cried and then someone else bid, and it went up to twenty five. 

Lucius bid thirty. A second later Hermione gave a flick of her wand, and it became thirty-five. 

Without moving his lips, Lucius hissed. “For Merlin’s sake, Hermione,  _ stop bidding!  _ We both want it. Only one of us needs to win. I am sure we can come to some sort of arrangement.”

Hermione challenged, “How do you know I’ll let you use it?”

Lucius Malfoy smiled a long, slow smile. She thought she saw his eyes dart down to her lips, but wasn’t sure. “I’ll ask politely.” 

“ _ Sold, for forty thousand galleons! _ ” The auctioneer called out, bringing them back to the moment. 

Hermione blinked, Lucius turned to look at the auctioneer in real surprise. 

While they had been distracted with one another, the potion had been bought by someone else. 

* * *

They were taken into a dining room with chairs and tables set at a healthy distance from one another. 

Lucius called it an intermission. Hermione had no idea how anyone was meant to relax. If people had started dropping dead all around her, she wouldn’t have been the slightest bit surprised. The glares the patrons were levelling at one another were that poisonous.

It probably should have made her nervous. It didn’t. Hermione was giddy. 

“ _ That _ was exciting.” She said. 

A woman at a table on the other side of the room caught Hermione’s eye. She was dark skinned and about McGonagall’s age. Her robes were voluminous violet and clearly expensive. A pair of clothed House Elves stood at her feet in a calculated display of wealth and status. They looked just about as proud as their mistress.

Hermione couldn’t help but notice her. Not only because of the aura of power coming off of her, but because she was currently glaring at both Hermione and Lucius as if they had personally wronged her. 

She couldn’t help it. Hermione glared right back. The older witch blinked, and turned back to her wine. 

“Is this a normal first date for Purebloods?” Hermione asked, sipping at her drink. It was good enough to give her real hopes for their lunch, which Lucius assured her should be arriving any moment. 

She certainly hoped so. Hermione was  _ starving _ . Watching other people spend fortunes was hard work, apparently.

Lucius barked in derision. “Hardly. I gave today a great deal of thought. You are a practical woman. I had to think of something that would serve a purpose.” He paused for just a moment. “I hope today will be... useful to you?”

What a sweet, dear man he was. He’d put so much thought into this. “Very useful, Lucius. I promise.”

Lunch was served in the wizarding style, in that plates appeared on their table out of thin air. It was a fusion of vegetables and roots known only to the magical world and tender lamb marinated in a rich sauce. It came with a selection of red and white wine which Lucius deliberated over for quite some time. And, of course, the jug of pumpkin juice that was a given at pretty much any gathering of magical people. 

Hermione couldn’t wait, so she tucked in. 

The taste had  _ layers  _ to it. Smoky, but tantalisingly sweet. Prior to this point, the best food Hermione had ever eaten would have to be Hogwarts food, purely in its endless variety and overwhelming wholesomeness. This was different. Hermione had never had food so cleverly, so  _ scientifically  _ designed to please. 

It was also tiny. The food was surrounded by an ocean of empty space on its plate. She’d only had a few mouthfuls and there was practically nothing left already. 

It was delicious food, obviously made for people with taste and by an artisan, but in that moment, Hermione felt a powerful, desperate urge for a bowl of pasta or a stirfry. 

_ Would it be bad manners if I asked for another serving?  _ Hermione thought to herself, watching Lucius delicately eat his food with obvious enjoyment.  _ Probably.  _

“I see now that our approach might have been a little haphazard.” Lucius was saying, raising a glass of wine to his lips. He took a small sip and went on, “Perhaps we should narrow our bids to particular items. We can’t simply bid for anything we like.”

Hermione had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. “Fine. The Singing Tree, Marigold’s works, the Memories…” 

“Dearest.” Lucius began, and Hermione’s chest warmed. She was starting to think that he could get away with pretty much anything, as long as he called her ‘dearest’ first. She hoped he never noticed. 

Knowing him, he probably would. 

“I am not sure you know you understand the phrase ‘narrow down’, in this context. I mean to say, we should probably choose a single item each, and reserve our funds purely for that. That way, we can be sure of leaving with  _ something. _ ”

Hermione sighed, but knew he probably had a point. 

This was ridiculous. This morning, she’d woken up one of the richest witches in England. Years of a successful career paired with minimal spending had meant that she always had far more money than she could conceivably spend. This afternoon, she found herself wondering if she could possibly afford all the things that she wanted. Wondering which of her inventions she could sell so that she might be able to survive for the next few months. 

“Besides,” Lucius said, “If you keep driving up the bids for every single item, Lady Shacklebolt will probably challenge you to a duel. That would not be wise.”

“Lady Shacklebolt? As in…?”

“Kingsley’s mother, yes. Ismene. She is not a woman to be trifled with.”

Hermione hazarded another glance at the older witch. She was now smiling at them. The smile was somehow more terrifying than her glares had been. 

Hermione sighed. Right, then. 

Out of all the things she wanted, what did she absolutely  _ need?  _

Their flirting had cost them Crowley’s potion. The Memories were tantalising, but she was not a magianthropologist and potential historical significance notwithstanding, the hat and the hair-comb didn’t interest her. The Vinewing tooth was interesting. Any part of a Vinewing was said to have fertility-enhancing properties, and could turn even the most barren land fertile. That was all very interesting, but it just wasn’t her speciality. Best leave the Vinewing to someone who could make the most of it. 

The Tree and the book, though… As a charms witch, both could be of immeasurable use to her. She could only imagine how much power the wand would lend to her spellcasting. Her vinewood wand was good, and her apple had become very closely attuned to her over the years, but there were times when she felt them bowing under the strain of her spellcasting. Marigold’s work could be absolutely monumental to her studies if it contained even the tiniest bit of insight into how she’d done what she’d done, and if it didn’t? It would still be a treasure beyond compare. 

“The Singing Tree. And Marigold’s book.” Hermione decided. “I need them.”

* * *

The auctioneered cried out, “Sold, for thirty thousand galleons to the lady on the divan.”

_ Yes!!! _

And just like that, the book was hers. Hermione could have danced for joy, but she settled for beaming instead. 

Beside her, Lucius smiled. “Congratulations.”

Thirty thousand galleons for something that might or might not contain something new. Something that, this morning, she wouldn’t have thought it was possible for her to possess. 

She was going to have to put a dozen different charms on her bookcase to keep the book safe. She was probably going to have to put a lock on her door, and teach Atlas and Crookshanks to stop using her bookshelves as perches. Keeping this book in good condition was going to be a huge undertaking. 

_ Absolutely worth it.  _

* * *

The afternoon went on. They were brought flutes of champagne, which Hermione gladly took, and glasses of prawn cocktails, which she devoured. The tension grew thicker as the more valuable items came up for bidding. 

Lucius won the hair comb, but it was a near thing. It cost him eighty thousand. Hermione winced sympathetically, but Lucius only gave a thin lipped smile of victory. 

At last, the bidding for the Singing Tree began. 

It started at twenty thousand galleons, and that alone should have been a sign that she probably couldn’t afford it. Especially not after she’d spent so much on the book. Hermione didn’t care. She couldn’t forgive herself if she didn’t at least try for it. 

She raised two fingers and raised it to thirty. A few seconds later, the bidding had shot up to forty thousand, and Hermione knew her chances were shrinking further and further. 

She went over her finances in her head. Her vault was full to bursting, and she had some muggle money that she could always convert. That was meant to be for emergencies. It was a sign of how desperate she was that she was even considering it. 

While she’d been thinking, the bidding had gone up to fifty thousand, and then to fifty five. Hermione watched with mounting despair. 

She couldn’t afford it. She just couldn’t. Accepting that stung. Her hands twisted in her lap, and she buried her longing deep down and told herself that she was being an idiot. 

Hermione heard a little huffing sigh beside her. 

Lucius raised his wand. The room fell silent. 

“Sold, for sixty five thousand galleons.”

Hermione couldn’t help it. She cheered. She must have dropped the  _ muffliato  _ by mistake, because everyone glared at her, except for the auctioneer, who was too polite, and Lucius, who didn’t bat an eyelid. 

Hermione couldn’t care less.

* * *

Half an hour later, Hermione and Lucius left the old house much poorer, but very, very happy. 

The staff had asked her where she wanted the book sent, but she’d hardly wanted to announce that she lived at Hogwarts. Instead, she carried her book in her arms as carefully as she’d ever carried any baby. It had come in a case, thank goodness, but there was sense in taking risks with it. Lucius had slipped the comb into a pocket, and carried the Singing Tree tucked under one arm. 

“Well done on winning the seedling.” Hermione said. She was trying to be graceful, and didn’t let any of her jealousy bleed into her voice. 

She couldn’t help staring, though. The Tree was every bit as beautiful as the sketches she’d seen in books. The few leaves it had were curled in on themselves. Their shape was reminiscent of the full curve of a woman's lips. As she watched, one of them quivered just the tiniest bit. Amazing. 

Hermione knew that it was probably for the best that he’d won it. Like most trees, it would take a long time to grow to any decent size, but it would eventually need planting, and who knew how long she would be at Hogwarts for? 

If everything went according to plan, Hermione might not ever even  _ have  _ her own garden. 

“Hermione,” Lucius said slowly, “The Tree is for you.”

“What? Really?” Hope bloomed in her chest. “Are you sure?” 

“Of course. Though I trust you’ll find it in your heart to give me a branch, every now and again.” 

Hermione pulled him into a hug so powerful and so sudden that he almost dropped the Seedling.

“Of course I will.” She said, her voice muffled in his chest. “ _ Thank you _ , Lucius.”

She still had no idea where she’d put it once it outgrew its pot, but she was sure she could think of something. Maybe Neville could find a spot for it in one of the school’s greenhouses? That way the students could enjoy it too. 

He flushed with pleasure. “It is nothing. I understand it is muggle custom for a man to buy a woman a gift on their first date. A token, of some kind.”

Hermione laughed. “Usually a bouquet of flowers, Lucius. Not a ridiculously expensive, practically extinct magical tree. I hope you won’t get in trouble? With Draco, I mean.” 

Lucius tried to wave it off. She knew him well enough to see the worry lurking behind his eyes. 

“I can make it up to Draco.” He said. “I’ll have to pay more attention to my investments this year, I think, but I am quite the hermit these days. I can make do with very little.” 

Hermione thought of his wardrobe, and his scotch, and his Manor, and smiled. 

“I’ve had an absolutely wonderful time.” Hermione said, and meant it. She spent more money today than she normally would in a year. She’d spent the day in frantic competition with a group of resentful strangers. But it had been new, and exciting, and she felt like they’d learned a lot about one another. 

_ Nicely done, Lucius,  _ she thought. 

“I’m glad. Now, I know we agreed that our next date would be in your hands, but I thought perhaps it might be nice to go to dinner-”

Her stomach gurgled, and relief rushed through her. “Oh, thank God. Yes please, Lucius. I’m  _ starving.” _

“I thought next week, perhaps- Excuse me, now? You want to eat now? Hermione. We have been eating all day.” 

“Finger food, Lucius. It doesn’t count.” Not to mention, Hermione was almost desperate to spend more time with him. 

“Very well. Where would you like to go?”

She knew exactly what she wanted. Mountains of delicious, filling food and all for a decent price. At the moment, her budget sort of demanded it. 

She had to take him somewhere nice, though. Lucius deserved no less. 

Suddenly, she knew  _ exactly  _ where to take him. Her decision made, she took him by the hand and apparated. 

* * *

Since she’d long since come to the conclusion that nowhere she could take him could possibly live up to the sorts of fine dining he was used to, Hermione decided to take him somewhere she genuinely enjoyed instead. 

The restaurant was all in regal blue with gold accents. The tables were close together, and almost all of them were full. 

The difference from where they’d had their lunch at the auction house was remarkable. Everyone was chattering and laughing, and eating with gluttonous abandon. The restaurant was filled with people from every walk of life; young couples in business suits, families with children, and old people who’d obviously been coming for years. A group of students were making a half-hearted attempt at study, their laptops and textbooks looking pretty neglected as they knocked back drinks and joked with one another. 

It was an overwhelming sort of place. That was one of the many things that Hermione loved about it. If ever there was a lapse in conversation, there was always something going on. 

Hermione gave Lucius a nervous glance as they waited for the waiter to find them a table. She was pretty sure he wasn’t used to having to wait, or to eating in a place so loud. He made no protest, though, and Hermione was grateful. 

As they waited, she couldn’t fail to notice the way several people turned around in their seats to stare at her very tall, very blond boyfriend. If it had just been because of his outfit, which was  _ very  _ unusual by muggle standards, that would have been one thing. It wasn’t. People were outright looking him up and down with unmistakable interest. One woman actually pointed, and Hermione felt her gut wrench in jealousy. 

More than a few people were also looking at her that way, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that Lucius was hers, and while she fully understood that a beautiful man like him might be looked at wherever he went, she didn’t need to be happy about it. 

She stood just a little bit closer to him. The timeless, universal gesture that meant,  _ he’s mine. _ It was a small thing, but she saw that she’d made her point. Most people had the decency to turn away. It made her feel better, if nothing else. 

Worried that he’d be feeling uncomfortable, Hermione gave Lucius a quick glance. He was totally oblivious to the attention he’d gathered. Instead, he was breathing in deeply, eyes closed. 

Quietly, he said, “That smells… remarkable. Goodness. What  _ is  _ that?” 

“Oh, that? That’s our dinner.” Hermione said with a deep breath of her own, savouring the heady, mouth watering smell of the spices. “It tastes just as good as it smells, I promise. My parents and I used to come here a lot.” 

They were finally seated. Lucius looked at the menu and after a few moments told Hermione that she should order for them. Hermione was more than happy to do it; she’d been here dozens of times and knew the menu like the back of her hand. She was sure that she could find at least  _ something  _ he would like. Hermione ordered a cocktail for herself, and Lucius asked for brandy, which they didn’t have. He settled for whiskey instead and they waited for the food. Naturally, since Hermione was starving and in the company of a man she was very much interested in, it took a very long time to arrive. 

“We never got around to finishing our conversation from the night of the Halloween Ball.” Lucius said mildly as their drinks were served. 

“Which one?” Hermione asked, thinking back. It felt like so long ago, now.

“We were discussing your inspiration. Maleficent. I would be interested to know more about her.”

Oh, dear. She’d forgotten all about that. Hermione groaned internally, and bit the bullet. “Lucius… listen, I’m really sorry. There… there is no Maleficent. Not really. It’s a children’s cartoon.” Seeing his blank look, she explained, “Like an illusion, but made with muggle technology instead of magic.”

Lucius was silent for a moment, and Hermione’s guilt had time to fester. 

“I see.” He said. “It is my own fault. I have always been gullible.” 

“No. No, Lucius, this isn’t your fault. I really am sorry.” She tried to explain. “I… I was just having so much fun with you, I got a bit carried away.”

At this, his mood brightened, then soured a moment later. 

“Ah. I will have to tell Narcissa and Astoria the truth. They will not be pleased. They were very excited to hear of this witch. We talked about her for quite some time.”

Hermione spluttered on her drink, and immediately regretted it as the cocktail  _ burned _ . “Hang on- Lucius, you told Narcissa and Astoria about Maleficent?”

“Of course.” Lucius said, somewhat defensively. He fumbled awkwardly, a strange thing for him. He was always so elegant. “A gentleman always lauds the achievements of witches whenever he hears them.” 

“Oh.” Hermione said. Oh, dear. Oh, no. “Do you think they would have told other people?”

Lucius winced. “Almost certainly. I imagine that between the two of them, they have probably told every society witch in England.” 

“Well…” Hermione said. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Lucius laughed, and everything was alright again. 

* * *

The food came, and Hermione had to restrain the very unattractive urge to brag. 

It looked incredible. A thousand different spices rose from the plates in a complex, beautiful harmony. Hermione had to close her eyes and take a deep breath of appreciation. The kitchen had outdone themselves. Again. 

Hermione hadn’t really known what Lucius would like, so she’d ordered pretty much the whole menu. Just to be safe. With her new budget in mind, it probably hadn’t been the best idea. 

There were platters of samosas and naan bread with little saucers of mango chutney and yoghurt. Dhal and murg makhani. Jalfrezi. Biryani and rogan josh. All steaming and, in some cases, actually sizzling. With so many dishes and with such generous servings, the staff had struggled to fit it on the table. 

The look on her boyfriend’s face made it completely worth it. Lucius was looking down at it with a mixture of aghast horror and mouth-watering anticipation.

“That’s for both of us.” She clarified. “I hope you don’t mind, but I think this sort of food really is best shared.”

Lucius murmured his assent, and continued his assessment of the food. He seemed… confused, but very interested. It was a good start. 

Hermione asked, “Alright, Lucius, can I assume you’ve probably never eaten Indian food before?”

“Never. I am starting to see that this was an oversight on my part.”

Hermione considered, and pointed to the rogan josh. “Take my advice; don’t have this one. Their grandma makes it, and she always makes it as hot as she can.”

He nodded. “As you say. What would you recommend?” 

“The dahl and the jalfrezi- that’s these two here. And you’ve got to try the naan, here you go-”

Lucius sat and waited patiently as she arranged plates and bowls for him. She made sure the milder dishes were nearer to him. The waiters brought them more drinks, and after numerous prompts from her, he started eating. 

His first few tries prompted some very strange expressions on his face, as if he had no idea  _ what  _ he was tasting. Still, he went back for a tentative second try, then with greater and greater confidence. Soon his eyes were shining as he ate. 

He liked it. Thank God. A part of her had been afraid that he would hate it. 

Curiously, Hermione asked, “Lucius, how is it that you’ve never had Indian food?”

He didn’t seem to mind the question. “My father was very proud of our French heritage. I don’t think I had a single English meal until I started at Hogwarts. Even now, if I were at home, you would be more likely to see me eating  _ bouillabaisse  _ or  _ bourdin noir _ than anything else.” 

“But you like English food now, though?” Hermione asked.

“As with most things, appreciation grows with time. Now, will you please start? If you wait much longer, I will be in danger of being eaten.”

Hermione smiled sweetly. “The night’s still young, Lucius. There’s still plenty of time for that.”

Lucius laughed. She didn’t, but she  _ did  _ keep smiling. Finally he blushed and turned his gaze away from her, and back to his meal. 

Hermione continued to watch him between mouthfuls. He ate with easy grace. Small mouthfuls, carefully chosen. More like a dance than a simple meal. Since she’d left most of the milder foods for him, she took an ample serving of the rogan josh. She didn’t mind at all. It was one of her favourite dishes. 

He looked at Marigold’s book from where it lay in its case at her side. “I have to admit, I’m surprised you’re not reading already.”

Hermione shook her head. “With all this food nearby? I wouldn’t risk it.”  _ The second I have a moment alone, though…  _

“I trust you’ll let me know what you think of it?”

Hermione winked at him. “I’ll write you a summary, if you like.” 

He smirked. “I look forward to it.”

She saw Lucius giving the josh an inquisitive glance, and she could barely get out the word, “Wait-!”, before he’d speared a mouthful and taken a bite. Hermione gasped loudly enough that half the room stopped and stared. 

For a long moment, there was no change. As though he’d had a piece of toast. Then Lucius Malfoy’s face went a deep, burning red. 

He coughed. He spluttered. Hermione jumped out of her seat and fluttered over to him. 

“Oh Lucius, you complete idiot, didn’t I tell you it was hot?” 

Between gasps, he choked out, “I didn’t think you meant it was  _ dragonfire _ .”

A cooling spell would have fixed the problem straightaway, but they were surrounded by muggles. Frantic, she grabbed a napkin and started waving it in front of his face. It didn’t seem to help very much. He loosened his tie, sucking in air. His throat was somehow an even brighter shade of red than his face. 

Only he could look gorgeous while so... flustered. 

A waiter came and laughed at them good naturedly, and poured them another drink. She had never seen Lucius  _ snatch  _ anything before. It was so crass. But he snatched that drink right out of the waiters hand and downed it in one gulp.

“By Merlin’s star-strewn hat.” Lucius croaked. “That is  _ good. _ ”

“What, really?” Hermione said. 

Hermione was far from a culinary expert, but the general understanding was that when people enjoyed eating something, they didn’t usually turn red in the face and start hacking and coughing. 

“It is. Quite superb.” Still red-faced, Lucius picked up his fork and went for another helping.

She reached out to stay his hand. There was no point in him pushing himself. He’d practically gone into cardiac arrest just from a single mouthful.

Hermione stopped.

Ron had never done this. Not once. He’d never taken himself out of his comfort zone for her. He’d turned his nose up at her cooking, at her favourite books and music, at… everything. Everything that mattered to her except magic, and even then, he’d been jealous and petty about that too. 

Even if Lucius wasn’t doing it to impress her… even if he was genuinely enjoying it… but that only made it better, didn’t it? If he genuinely enjoyed something that she shared with him. 

It shouldn’t have meant much. This was just a restaurant, and this was just food. It meant a lot to her. It meant everything. 

Hermione realised that she had been staring. Worse; she could feel a gormless smile spreading on her face. The sort that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. 

She snapped herself out of it, and saw that he’d been staring at her with a raised eyebrow. 

She got a funny feeling he was about to say something very clever, so she cut him off. “Okay, you’re sure?” 

Lucius nodded casually, but she saw him draw himself up a little taller in his chair. Like a man preparing for battle. 

She tore off a chunk of naan and dipped it into the mint yoghurt. 

“If you’re eating really hot food and you’re not used to it, don’t drink so much water. It just makes your next bite as hot as the first one. Have something like this instead.”

She’d held up the naan to his lips before she realised what she’d done. Her ears felt very hot, all of a sudden. She almost pulled back when he leaned forward, met her eyes, and had a bite. 

“How is it?” She said, ignoring the tremble in her voice. 

“Better. Thank you.” 

“Now let’s try the josh again…” She ripped off another bit of naan, dipped it in the sauce. 

He had a bite, and after a moment an appreciative smile bloomed on his face. 

His eyes met hers. “Delicious.”

* * *

Hermione and Lucius walked down the street hand in hand. The Singing Tree was tucked under Lucius’ arm, and Hermione held the precious book to her chest. 

They didn’t really have anywhere in mind. That didn’t particularly matter. Being in one another’s company was enough for now, and it was a beautiful evening. 

Hermione had an idea. “You know what’s  _ really  _ good after Indian food?” 

Seriously, Lucius said, “Tell me.” 

“Ice cream.”

One of Lucius’ hands fled to his stomach, and he gave a piteous groan. Hermione laughed. She pulled him tight against her side. 

“Okay, Lucius. Let’s go home.”

* * *

Lucius apparated them to Hogsmeade. The streets were practically empty; it had gotten late all of a sudden. The moon hung pale in the sky. 

Hermione shed her illusion with a sigh of relief. There was just no substitute for being yourself. 

Together they walked up to the castle. It was hard going, at first, but after a while Hermione felt the benefit of the exercise. They  _ had  _ eaten quite a bit. She felt a little sorry for Lucius, though. After a while, the Tree became too heavy and awkward for him to carry, so he charmed it to float by his side instead.

They crossed the bridge to the school in comfortable silence, and were in the courtyard before they knew it. 

Lucius suggested. “It is a muggle custom, I believe, that after a date the gentleman should walk the lady to her door. To protect her from evil, as I understand.”

Hermione scoffed. “Hogwarts is the safest place in the whole world, Lucius.” 

“I am sure it is.” He said. “And yet, tradition is tradition.”

Lucius gave a little nod in the direction of her tower, as if to say,  _ shall we go? _

Hermione hesitated. 

He wouldn’t be asking to escort her to her bedroom door. In this context, he could only mean her office. Unfortunately, it was an absolute pigsty. 

This morning she’d realised that she had no more Owl treats for Atlas. The temper tantrum he’d thrown when he came to the same realisation had been prodigious, even by his standards. She’d only cleaned up the absolute worst of it before she’d needed to leave for their date. In the joy of the day, she’d completely forgotten about it.

Until now.

They’d had a wonderful time. She definitely didn’t want to end it with him getting the wrong idea about her hygiene standards. She  _ also  _ didn’t want him to feel obligated to help her clean it all up, as he no doubt would. He was, after all, a gentleman. 

Most importantly, she absolutely didn’t want to kill the mood. 

Hermione improvised. 

“That’s a very outdated and sexist custom, Lucius. These days, muggle women walk men to their doors.”

Another man might have asked for some sort of explanation. Lucius Malfoy didn’t. 

“I see.” Lucius nodded. “Then I shall consider myself protected. Lead on.”

She walked him down through the dungeons. The students they passed took little notice of them. They were, after all, adults. Worse, they were teachers. No student would assume that they were up to anything interesting without very good reason. 

They had almost reached his office when she realised that she hadn’t needed any directions. The labyrinthine dungeons were becoming more and more familiar to her. She was noticing the differences between one section of the tunnels and the next; the slight changes in the curve and colour of the walls, the freshness of the air, the temperature. 

They stood outside the emerald door with it’s silver knocker. Indecision stirred, until she just decided to go for it. 

Hermione held up her hand, fingers curled and pointing downwards, right up to Lucius’ forehead. She had to stand on her tiptoes to do it. 

Lucius Malfoy blinked in surprise. Then a slow smile curled his lips. 

“Hermione Granger,” He said delightedly, “that  _ is  _ old fashioned.”

He took her hand and pressed it to his forehead before kissing her fingers. 

It was only meant to be a sign of respect. It didn’t feel that way. Perhaps it was because of the way his mouth lingered on her fingers for just a moment longer than was surely necessary. It might have been the look in his eyes. As if he knew exactly what he was doing to her, and thought it was funny. Like they were sharing a joke. 

Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was just her, wanting him. 

There was a little empty moment. If he’d been a muggle, he probably would have invited her in. They might have shared some of his fantastic whiskey. They could have been alone for the first time all day. She could have snuggled up with him on his sofa, and one thing might have led to another. 

It didn’t happen. Instead he looked down at her, eyes soft and warm.

They didn’t have the same upbringing. The things she assumed he knew, he had no idea of. He didn’t realise that this was the part of the date where he was meant to invite her in, and they could have the opportunity to be intimate with one another. 

But he didn’t know, and so he didn’t ask, and she didn’t push him. He adored her. That was more than enough. 

She craned up again to kiss his cheek. 

“Lucius. I had a really wonderful time. Thank you.”

“As did I.”

“Are you going to the Head Club tomorrow?”

“Yes. Will I see you there?”

“You will.”

By their feet, the Singing Tree started to hum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... what did you think? Poor Hermione. She just wants a good dicking, gods love her. Failing that, priceless magical artefacts and plants will do, I guess. For now. 
> 
> Sorry if this chapter was a bit exposition heavy and dense! I promise that part two will have its slice of life moments as well, though by the looks of things less so than part one!
> 
> Next chapter will be a bit later than usual as it's very action heavy and action isn't my strong suit. I'll give you a hint... particular readers have asked for it!!! :D Hope you enjoy! 
> 
> I also have a Valentine's Day chapter almost finished, but it comes after next chapter so unfortunately it won't be ready in time for the actual day. Sorry about that, guys. But better late than never, I guess? 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, stay safe and dream of Lumione!


	17. Daniel, Vanessa and... the Duelling Club?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well holy macaroni. The long awaited chapter is here. At least, I've been waiting for it!
> 
> I'm going to give credit straight away. This one's for the readers. In particular, it's for iheartloki, who came up with the idea in the first place! As well as Lola_Sophia for seconding it! I believe Zeeksmom did too but I've trawled through the comments section and couldn't find out for sure. Apologies if I've missed anyone. Regardless, this MASSIVE chapter is thanks to you beautiful souls. Thank you very much. 
> 
> If anyone else can think of anything you'd particularly like to see Hermione and Lucius get up to, by all means feel free to leave it in the comments. I can't promise it'll make it in but I am grateful for any and all suggestions. Despite what these last few chapters have been like, a lot of the upcoming chapters are actually quite short, so in theory we do have some wriggle room here. 
> 
> I'm really proud of this chapter. My editor worked her arse off on it and transformed it into a thing of beauty. Thanks so much Jessari, seriously. You amaze me. 
> 
> With no further ado, read on and enjoy!

Hermione was enjoying a cup of tea and biscuits with Minerva when there was a knock at the door.

Hermione hadn’t known they were expecting company. She turned to Minerva for an explanation, but it seemed the Headmistress was just as perplexed as she was. 

Minerva waved the door open, and Daniel Rosier along with Vanessa Flint came into the Headmistress’ office. 

The two Slytherins froze after crossing the threshold. Hermione could see them regretting not making an appointment before arriving, and felt a brief stirring of pity for them. Minerva had an ‘open door’ policy. As was often the case with such things, it was rarely as flexible as was intended.

Bravely, Daniel stepped forward.

“I hope we’re not interrupting.” He said. 

“What can I do for you, Mr Rosier, Miss Flint?” Minerva asked, curious.

He stood a little straighter. “Headmistress, Vanessa and I had an idea for a new club- well, actually an old one. We want to revive the Duelling Club.”

“We have it all worked out.” Vanessa took over. “There’s even an old duelling hall on the third floor that’s pretty central to everyone. It has duel shields set up and everything.”

Hermione spoke up. “Those shields are old. You won’t get much use out of them.”

She knew that because she knew the exact hall they were talking about. She’d considered it, if only briefly, as a possible training room for Dumbledore’s Army in her fifth year. Unfortunately, the undeniable advantage of duelling shields hadn’t made up for the lack of secrecy. 

“We’ll recharge them.” Daniel said. “We’ve looked into it. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

“We’ll make sure the hall’s all clean when we’re done.” Vanessa hurried to say. “We won’t make any more work for the elves, Professor Granger. We promise.”

Hermione and Minerva shared a significant look. Hermione gave a little shrug. She certainly had no objections to the idea, and it sounded like the two fifth years had put some thought into it. 

“This is a very different conversation to the one we last had here.” Minerva said. “I am pleased that you are using your talents for better things. I assume you have enough members for this club?”

“Here, Headmistress.” Daniel said, passing her a sheet of parchment from within his robes. 

Minerva gave it a perfunctory glance, before giving it to Hermione. “What do you think, Professor Granger?”

Her heart skipped a beat. The Headmistress wasn’t just asking about the list; she wanted her opinion. This was a chance to show Minerva that she could be more than just a Charms Professor. That she could be trusted with more important, administrative tasks. 

_ Focus.  _

Hermione looked down the list and saw it was made of about two dozen students. Not bad by the standards of a club that wasn’t even up and running yet, but also to be expected. Duelling was something that would probably always inspire a reaction out of teenagers. Whether or not they would maintain an interest in it as time went by would depend entirely on Daniel and Vanessa. 

“Mostly Slytherin, but not all.” Hermione noted. “It’s good that you reached out to the other Houses.”

The Slytherins beamed with pride. 

“Where exactly has this overpowering urge to duel come from?” Minerva asked. 

Daniel replied, “There used to be a Duelling Club back in… well, back when Professor Granger was a student. Before then, when our parents were students, the Club was thriving. We think students these days should have a chance too.”

Hermione found that logic hard to disagree with. The world was a peaceful place and had been for years. That didn’t make preparation any less important. Besides, Hermione was of the opinion that some knowledge was simply worth knowing. Knowing how to defend oneself surely fell under that category. 

Besides, if the school had a  _ Gobstones  _ club, she couldn’t see why it shouldn’t have a duelling club as well. 

She felt a powerful surge of pride for Daniel. He was one of her favourite students, and she knew that his interest might be at least partially because she’d taken special care of his Charms education. Duelling was, after all, predominantly a Charms-based art. 

Wryly, Minerva said, “Certainly, the Duelling Club was revived. For one lesson only, as your research would no doubt have told you. The leadership was somewhat lacking.” Minerva’s face grew stormy as her thoughts strayed to Lockheart. “If you want to do any better, you’ll have to have some more structured leadership.”

Vanessa seemed prepared for this. “We’re happy to have a Professor there to supervise us, but we won’t need them to do anything else. Daniel and I are good duellists already. We’ll do all the teaching. The Professor could always just…” The young woman’s nose wrinkled as she tried to think of something that teachers did. “Mark some papers, or something.” She finished. 

Minerva’s blue eyes flickered to Hermione, and they shared an amused glance. To be that young again. To have that little understanding of all the hard work it took to keep this school going… and yet, so much initiative. Courage. The open mind it took to think of something like this. 

Hermione had given a great deal of thought to her career at this school. She’d been made Head of House. With it, she’d even been given a place on the Board. She’d thought of many different ways that she could help the school and prove her worth as an administrator. And in all that time, the idea of reviving the Duelling Club had never occurred to her. She wasn’t sure it ever would have. 

Yes, being young had its drawbacks. But it definitely had its advantages. 

Minerva considered them for a moment, and the young witch and wizard held their breath.

At last, the Headmistress said, “Professor Malfoy would be a good choice, I think. I remember him being a duelling enthusiast himself, when he was your age. Besides, if this is to be a Slytherin-led endeavor, as your Head of House the responsibility should lie with him.” And then she started sorting through the files at her side, indicating that they were all dismissed. Hermione included. 

_ Oh dear.  _

“Um.” Vanessa said. “And are you going to pass this on to Professor Malfoy, or…?”

Minerva didn’t even look up. “I think the two of you are quite capable of informing him yourselves. Thank you. That will be all.”

* * *

Hermione wasn’t there when Daniel and Vanessa gave Lucius the news, but she heard the whole thing from him in the hidden reading room in the library the very next day. Lit by stained glass lamps and only barely large enough for them both, the little room had become their sanctuary. It was theirs in a way that their offices weren’t. Here, there was practically no chance of being disturbed, and a  _ muffliato  _ meant they couldn’t be overheard. 

As Hermione had predicted, Lucius was  _ not  _ happy. 

They had been in the little nook for about fifteen minutes. Lucius was so upset that he hadn’t even thought to order a tea-set for them, and in the end Hermione had done it. She poured them both a cup now while he seethed. 

“We hardly have any time together as it is, Hermione.” He complained. “Now we will have even less.” 

“Most clubs only meet once a week, Lucius.” She said, to herself as much as him. “We’ll have plenty of time to spend with each other.”

She was trying to be positive about the whole thing, but really she couldn’t help but agree with him. The club was a fantastic idea, and she was proud of the students for thinking of it. She was sure it would do them some good; particularly those of them who wanted to be Aurors one day. 

That didn’t mean that a part of her, which cared predominantly for her own happiness, wasn’t a little bit resentful to lose time with her boyfriend. Even if it was for a good cause, and done with good intentions. 

People were funny like that. 

Hermione went on, “Besides, you supervising the Club is probably for the best. You can stop them from doing anything  _ too  _ dangerous.”

“Perhaps.” He said. “Though I expect it will be all I can do to stop them from breaking one anothers arms once a week. Madame Pomfrey will lay the blame at my feet for this, you realise.” 

Hermione couldn’t completely dispute that. The Infirmary Witch was notoriously protective of the students, even by the standards of most teachers. “Probably.” She conceded. “But if you get the blame for it, you get the credit too. After the Trial, this is probably a really good opportunity for Slytherin, don’t you think?”

At this, his face took a thoughtful cast. Lucius was coming around to the idea. “True. And it  _ is  _ tradition…” 

Hermione smiled fondly. “Tradition is important. A tradition that serves a purpose is even better. This could be a really good thing, Lucius. Dumbledore’s Army brought a lot of students together. A Duelling Club could do the same thing.” 

“I’m sure it could.” Lucius said, and she knew that he’d accepted it. Finally, he relaxed enough to take up his cup and have a little sip. French Earl Grey, just the way he liked it. The floral, aromatic scent filled the air. It was a nice smell, and she was starting to associate it with him. 

“Did the Duelling Club run back when you were in school, Lucius?”

“It did.” Lucius lifted his face with a hint of his former haughty pride. “I was First Wand in Sixth Year.”

“What happened in Seventh?” Hermione teased, taking a biscuit and starting to nibble on the edges. 

Lucius turned bleak. “Bellatrix discovered duelling.”

Oh. Hermione felt her lips twist, as if she’d tasted something foul. Her appetite vanished. Her eyes fell to the sleeve of her robe, under which she knew lay her scar.

It was faint now. Spider thin, it was so faint that her friends had tried to tell her that it was completely gone. It wasn’t. You just had to hold it up to the light. 

Lucius reached out for her in apology. His hand came to rest on her cheek. She allowed it. His touch was cool and tender. She turned her face to press her lips to the palm of his hand.

He withdrew his hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned her.”

“It’s okay.” Hermione said, and strangely enough, it was. “She’s been gone for a long time. She can’t hurt me anymore.”

They were quiet for a while. 

Lucius spoke. “She was my wife’s sister, but she became… a horror. I grieve for the girl she once was, but I know it is for the best that she is gone.”

“Yes, it is.” Hermione rallied. Right before she remembered that the reason Bellatrix couldn’t hurt anyone ever again was because Molly had killed her. Molly, who wouldn’t talk to her ever again. 

Everything felt very heavy all of a sudden. 

“Oh, Hermione.” Lucius said, and came to sit beside her. His hand slid behind her back to pull her in. Without thinking, she rested her head against his side. “It will be alright.”

How could he know that? It was an empty platitude; the sort that people said when there was nothing else to say and no easy solution. 

She felt better anyway. He cared. He was here. That was all she needed. 

“Goodness, that was remarkably well done.” Lucius observed, completely out of the blue. In the sapphire glow of the lamp at his side, Lucius’ eyes shone an electric blue. The effect was stunning, and Hermione was starting to wonder if that was why he always chose to sit at the particular spot. It wouldn’t have surprised her. 

Frowning, Hermione asked, “What was?”

“You, handling me, a unco-operative professor. I find myself entirely persuaded. You will make a fine Deputy Headmistress.”

Her grief and her regret were forgotten as Hermione felt herself blush right down to her roots. 

“Thanks, Lucius.”

* * *

The Duelling Club was to be held on Tuesday evenings, mostly because of Lucius’ schedule. He had categorically refused to relinquish his Friday nights at the Head Club. 

A week after Vanessa and Daniel had gone to Minerva for permission, the Club’s inaugural meeting was held. Hermione went primarily because she wanted to show Lucius support. This was important to him. She was also genuinely interested. Not only because duelling  _ was _ interesting, but because she wanted to see how it could be taught by someone who wasn’t a complete idiot or totally disdainful of children. 

The hall was just as she remembered it. Stone arches with a window at the far end to let in the light of the setting sun. There were a few key differences, though. The long, moonphase duelling platform running down the center of the room emitted a steady golden glow. Hermione was happy to see it. It meant the duelling shields were up and running. 

Not only that, but there were a few training dummies set up against the walls. Hermione gave an approving nod. It was a clever idea. They didn’t look as advanced as the ones they’d used in the DA, but they would do the trick. 

Children mingled, mostly gathered into their separate houses. They were every bit as excited as she could have imagined. A few of them had their wands out and were going through practice lunges with varying degrees of success. 

It was… adorable. Seeing their enthusiasm, their glee. It was also very encouraging. The fact that so many of them were tripping over their feet or fumbling their movements just meant that the Club was appealing to all sorts of students. As far as Hermione was concerned, that could only be a good thing. 

What she  _ hadn’t  _ expected was Viktor Krum being here. The Quidditch player stood surrounded by a gaggle of students. Standing amidst so many children only made him look even taller and broader than usual.

In the center of the hall, Lucius stood beside Vanessa and Daniel. His outfit was the elaborate, expensive kind that she knew meant he was making a special effort. Instead of his usual robes, he wore a long, pure white coat with jade stitching that showed off his build. It had a high, stiff collar. The collar was detailed with a winding snake embroidered on it. Where the coat hung open, she could see he wore a tight fitting black shirt and jodhpurs. His platinum hair was clipped high upon his head with an elegant silver piece from which dripped sparkling emeralds. She thought he looked more suited to a runway than a duelling hall, but it still had a vaguely martial impression, which she supposed was the general idea. 

He looked… cheerful. Brighter than usual, surrounded by so many people. His lips quirked in a smile when he caught sight of her. 

She approached them. Daniel and Vanessa seemed happy to see her, which she thought was really sweet considering Vanessa was so behind in her homework. 

Daniel nodded his head in greeting, “Professor Granger! I didn’t know you’d be coming. Are you here for the Club?”

Hermione gave him a reassuring smile. “If that’s alright with you two. This is your Club. I’m not going to interfere.”

Vanessa grinned, “Of  _ course _ , it’s alright, Professor! You’re always welcome.” Then her eyes strayed over Hermione’s shoulder, and her expression went oddly vacant. 

A moment later, Viktor joined them. He seemed blissfully unaware of the students trailing behind him.

“I heard about this Duelling Club.” Viktor explained, shrugging his immense shoulders. “I wanted to see for myself.” 

“You can come by any time, Coach Krum.” Vanessa said. Her eyes were shining, and Hermione saw Daniel give her a sideways look. She didn’t think the Slytherin girl noticed. “If you have any… feedback to give us, go right ahead.”

Viktor gave a modest shrug and tried to bring the subject back to the class, but it was a wasted effort. If the students had been interested before, they were captivated now. They resumed bombarding him with questions. 

“Maybe we could have a demonstration?” One of the Gryffindors asked. “Mr Krum, sir, do you think you could-”

Viktor shook his head firmly. “I don’t fight children.” He said. “That is… not right.”

The children deflated. All except a few of the older ones, who had the good sense to look relieved. 

“But, what about the Professors?” Phillip Earlright, a Gryffindor second year, suggested. “Professor Granger’s grownup, and Professor Malfoy’s practically-” And then went quiet. 

Hermione interjected before things could get out of hand. “Mr Earlright, that’s quite enough.” 

Too late. Lucius cooly said, “No, Professor Granger, by all means. Let’s hear it, Mr Earlright. Come, boy, do speak up. What is it you were about to say?” 

The young Gryffindor couldn’t be prevailed upon to say another word, which Hermione thought was very much for the best. Unfortunately, he was alone. The idea of the Professors duelling spread like wildfire and soon all the children were repeating it. 

“Please, Professors! Please please please-” A couple of Hufflepuffs chattered at them. 

“Oh go on, Professor Granger, show us how you beat Death Eaters in the war.” 

“Um, Professor Malfoy, excuse me, sir, but didn’t you used to be a duellist?” 

“Alright, everyone settle down.” Hermione raised her hands, and the hall fell silent. A dozen hopeful pairs of eyes looked at her. She remained strong. Then several lips started wobbling, and Hermione’s resolve wavered. 

For all the myriad failures of Lockhart’s Club, the demonstration of two adults had been a good idea. Even if Gilderoy hadn’t had the magical skill to pull it off, it could only be helpful to have students see what they could aim for. 

It was no different to Minerva’s tendency to arrive at Transfiguration class in her Animagus form. Nothing quite motivated people like a glimpse of what they could achieve if they worked at it. 

“One duel.” Hermione finally relented. “If you’re sure you’re alright with it, Viktor?”

The Seeker smiled. “It’s no problem. I like duelling.” 

“A moment, Viktor.” Lucius asked. “For preparation, you understand. Neither Hermione or I came here ready to duel.”

Viktor gave him a nod. Hermione and Lucius left the room. They weren’t much missed. The students started peppering Krum with questions before they’d even stepped out of the hall. 

If there was one thing Hogwarts never lacked, it was an empty room. She and Lucius crossed the hall to find a classroom that looked like it hadn’t been used in years. Thanks to the castle elves, it wasn’t dusty in the slightest. It just lacked… character. 

Lucius carefully shut the door behind them, and they were alone. 

“That was clever.” Hermione said appreciatively. “Now you’ve got time to plan a strategy.”

Lucius pulled his brows together in a frown. “Whatever for?” 

“For fighting Viktor, obviously. Now, he was a duellist in Durmstrang and since he read my- um, that book I shouldn’t have published, we can probably assume he’s kept it up since then. He’s pretty good at Transfiguration and Charms, or at least he was in the Tournament. I can give you some tips-” 

Lucius held up a gentle hand, and Hermione fell silent. “Hermione, I am starting to suspect that we have misunderstood one another. I thought, I  _ assumed _ , that you understood that you were the obvious choice to fight Viktor.”

Hermione drew back in confusion. “What? Lucius, don’t you have years of duelling experience? I’m a scholar. You should fight him.”

“I-? Fight that young dragon?” Lucius laughed incredulously. It was a beautiful sound. His head tilted backwards, and the jewels in his hair caught the light. “I think not.”

“Well someone’s going to have to.” Hermione said, feeling a bit cross. “The students have their hopes up.”

Lucius Malfoy floated across the room towards her. His long legs ate up the distance in moments, and suddenly he stood right in front of her. 

Feather-light, his fingers traced her chin and tilted her face up. He leaned in, closer and closer. His eyes turned cloudy, his lips parted, and Lucius Malfoy  _ smouldered.  _

_ “Please.” _ He murmured. 

Hermione felt her face grow very hot, all of a sudden. Her lungs strained, and failed, to draw breath. The force of his magnetism was a physical thing. He smirked. It didn’t break the spell. If anything, it only made things worse. 

His thumb traced her lower lip. Her knees were shaking, threatening to betray her at any moment. 

Twining her fingers through the knot of his cravat, she pulled him down until her lips rested against the shell of his ear. The little jolt that ran through him was deeply satisfying. 

“Not a chance.” She whispered. “Your students, your Club, your responsibility.”

“Bah!” Lucius exclaimed, and released her. He dropped the highly charged aura he’d summoned, and she could breathe again. 

Lucius turned to face away from her for a moment.  He took a deep breath, and when he turned back to her, his demeanour was entirely different. Serious. Thoughtful. 

“I have often regretted,” Lucius said softly, “that you were not of an age to represent Hogwarts at the Triwizard tournament, Hermione.” 

_ What?  _ Hermione thought.  _ What does that have to do with anything…?  _

And yet, it was a sweet thing to say. She’d be lying if she said she’d never wondered how she might have done as Hogwarts Champion. She liked to think she would have done quite well. “Really?” 

In that same quiet tone, he went on. “Indeed. Your abilities would have made you a remarkable champion. Not only that, but women were woefully under-represented that year. Four champions and only one witch amongst them? A terrible shame.” 

Then Hermine saw the glint in his eyes, and suddenly it all made sense. “Let me guess.” She said flatly. “As a feminist, you’re thinking that to right old wrongs, I should have the opportunity to fight Viktor Krum today?”

His smile was like the sun. “Hermione, I have no idea what on earth a ‘feminist’ is, but if being one allows me to keep my arms and legs in their proper places, consider me among their ranks.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Lucius, don’t be so dramatic. It’s just a duel.”

His reply was smooth as silk. “If it is only a duel, dearest witch, then I see no reason why it should concern you.” 

Hermione wavered. This was silly. This wasn’t even her club. She hadn’t come here with any intentions of duelling at all. It seemed ridiculous to fight Viktor Krum. It also seemed ridiculous that Lucius was so against fighting Krum himself. Certainly, Lucius may not be a ‘bangs and smells’ sort of wizard, but surely he was at least capable of holding his own? He’d fought in the first Wizarding War, from what she understood. He’d been a duellist back in his schooling years too. More than that, though, Krum was a gentleman. He and Lucius were friends. She doubted that Krum would seriously harm Lucius for the sake of a duel. 

Her common sense and her courage started to fight it out, and perhaps her common sense might have won, if her curiosity hadn’t raised it’s head. 

_ Then again…  _

She  _ did  _ have some spells she wanted to try out. Not ones from the book she’d published after the War, obviously. Krum would surely be prepared for those. New jinxes and shields she’d thought up for one of her many unfinished Charms books. Magic that had never seen the light of day. They might prove useful in a practical setting, they might not. There was only one way to find out. 

For the first time, it occurred to Hermione that this was a real opportunity. Practice dummies could only get her so far, and the really good ones were hideously expensive. A talented, powerful duellist like Krum could be a valuable asset to her research.

She made her choice. 

“Oh, fine.” Hermione said. “I’ll do it.”

“You are serious-? Circe be praised!” Lucius beamed. He took her hand and kissed it warmly. She could feel the curve of his smile against her knuckles, her fingers. A laugh escaped her. 

They left the classroom and returned to the Duelling Hall. Hermione was smiling as they entered the room. This was actually… really exciting. Her first duel in years!

No-one noticed their entrance, and she immediately saw why. 

Viktor stood flanked by a semicircle of students. The Seeker drew out the pale, twisting wood of his wand and levelled it at the flagstones at his feet. Viktor frowned, muttered something under his breath, and the stone  _ exploded _ \- no. It would be more accurate to say that the stone  _ vaporised.  _ All that remained of it was a fine cloud of dust hanging in the air. 

The children let out a great,  _ ‘oooh!’  _ at this, and started clapping.

Slowly, Hermione and Lucius looked at one another, speechless. 

Lucius recovered first and said in a rush, “I have the greatest confidence in your abilities. Have at it.” 

It was at this point that Hermione realised she had made a terrible mistake. Unfortunately, she couldn’t back down now. She’d told Lucius that she’d be the one to duel Krum, and so she would. She was too proud and too honest to do otherwise. 

No sense in putting it off. Hermione climbed up the steps to the platform. A few students shouted encouragement and bolstered her courage. 

The recently rejuvenated shield hummed in the air before her. She tapped against it with her wand and it parted; a space just wide enough for her to fit through. She stepped through and felt it knit closed behind her. 

Twenty feet away, on the other side of the platform, Viktor had done the same thing. Straight-backed and tall, he didn’t seem nervous in the slightest.

Krum started going through warm up exercises. He braced his hands behind his head and turned one way, then the other. He stretched. He bent over to touch his toes and stood up straight again. His movements were practiced and efficient. 

Hermione wasn’t quite sure what to do, so she just made sure her hair was securely tied back behind her head. She went over her repertoire of hexes and spells, making particular note of those she wanted to practice. Once that was done, she simply stood and took deep breaths. 

“I don’t know the first thing about formal duelling.” Hermione felt the need to explain. “We only had one lesson of it at Hogwarts, the rest was all-”  _ Stunners in the back. Fighting four enemies at once, none of who cared about rules at all. Hurling tables and statues across the room at Death Eaters and bigots who wanted you dead, relying on your friends to shield you the whole time-  _ “-well, it wasn’t particularly structured.”

“That is fine.” Krum said. “We Bulgarians don’t worry so much about stances and bowing as you English do.”

In the crowd, Lucius bristled, but Hermione only smiled. It was good news. 

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance we could ease into it, at first?” Hermione asked. “I’m more of an academic, these days. I might need a bit of practice.” 

“We could have a minute of testing blows.” Viktor said. “It is not a bad idea.”

She sent a querying look to Lucius, who raised no objection. 

“I will count the minute.” He said. “If the two of you are ready to begin?”

They both raised their wands and stood ready. 

Lucius carved a fiery number  _ sixty  _ in the air, which began to tick down. 

The testing blows were just that. She fired off a few  _ stupefys  _ and he returned the favour. Nothing strong enough to do serious damage if their shield charms failed. They didn’t.

Thirty seconds left. 

Hermione was surprised. Shields had always come easily to her, but there was something very different about casting a shielding charm when there were actual hexes flying at you, compared to demonstrating in class. A small part of her had been worried that she’d lost the knack. Apparently not. She deflected everything Viktor sent at her with time to spare. Perhaps some things, your mind just retained. 

Quicker and quicker Viktor’s bolts flew, and still Hermione’s breath came easily. In through her nose, out through her mouth. In through her nose-

And then… zero. The real duel had begun. 

Faintly, she heard Lucius announce that the minute was up. He needn’t have bothered, because the next hex Krum sent at her was a Bone Crusher. A nasty, tricky hex which she had never seen outside of a textbook. 

The students broke out into applause as she sent it careening away to be absorbed by the duelling shields. Across the platform, Viktor smiled at her. He looked impressed, but by no means intimidated. 

She was an academic, so she played to her strengths. She studied him. 

Viktor was  _ strong.  _

The first strike that hit her  _ protego  _ made her teeth rattle in her gums. She made a note not to let any hexes get that far if she could possibly help it. If one of them broke through and hit her, she’d be in serious trouble.

Viktor was  _ fast.  _

His blows came one after the other, a relentless fiery barrage that belied his power. His wand movements were so smooth and so quick that he flowed from one spell to the next without pause. He dealt with the inquisitive hexes she sent back at him without breaking stride. 

Viktor was  _ smart.  _

After the first few fireballs, Bone Crushers and stunners, Viktor switched tactics and sent the more subtle types of hexes against her. A  _ Confundus _ . A Tongue Jammer and a Mind Boggler. Protecting herself against those sorts of spells had always been a particular strength of hers. She deflected, negated, and dismantled everything of that sort he sent at her with ease. He saw that she was breathing easier and switched right back to brute force. Once again, she was on the defensive. 

She momentarily thought back to her fourth year, and the Triwizard Tournament.  _ How on Earth did Harry ever beat you? _

He was so powerful, in fact, that if she had any hopes of beating him, she knew she’d have to be creative. 

Hermione took inventory. 

She was a transfiguration witch about as much as she was a charms witch, but unfortunately using transfiguration magic in a duel was very, very difficult. It took time. It also took resources. Resources she didn’t have very much of at the moment. 

What  _ did  _ she have? 

While she pondered, Viktor bombarded her with missiles of a dozen different shapes and sizes.  _ Clever.  _ They came so close together that she couldn’t tell which was which before they struck. She had to treat every strike as if it could be enough to do her serious harm. That meant furiously trying to block all of them, and expending huge amounts of energy creating powerful shields to protect her against every single one. 

What she wouldn’t give for a few bits of furniture. A few spoons.  _ Something _ . 

Fifteen feet away, a lifetime away, Viktor Krum grimaced, gritted his teeth and doubled down on his hexes. 

It was costing him, Hermione realised. Even a wizard of his talent had limits. Neither of them were Dumbledore or Voldemort. The power to summon fire and lightning didn’t just come out of nowhere. It drained you; mentally and, to a degree, physically as well. 

She could just keep going, she realised. She had the strength to hold until he ran out of energy. But she wouldn’t win that way. Not in the way that she wanted to win. 

Somewhere to her right, Lucius Malfoy and the children were watching. 

Her wand snapped up and down, and a shield wrapped her from head to toe. It was one of her own creations, designed to be used against an enemy you couldn’t see. Or against a stronger opponent. 

It  _ should  _ be able to hold off against one of his hexes, if they made it past her  _ protego _ . Maybe two. It would fade with time, but it was an edge. One of the few she had. 

Viktor frowned. He’d seen her wand move, but he couldn’t see the shield. Good. 

The materials she had to work with were limited. She had stones, air, and the platform itself. Time to use them. 

First things first… She turned her attention to the carpet at their feet. It was very hard. She had to do it in between intercepting and shielding against his strikes, which meant she couldn’t look directly at it. She visualised it instead. The navy blue cloth, the moon cycle upon it. She imagined it stirring, coming alive. 

With intense concentration she commanded, “ _ Contorqueri _ .”

The carpet at his feet twitched, and there was just a moment of surprise on his face before it sprang up and coiled around him, winding tighter and tighter until he was totally obscured. He thrashed but she held her wand steady. The carpet held. Then she cast a fastening charm to lock it in place. 

Because she wasn’t a monster, she left him enough space to breathe. 

She was under no illusions. The binding wouldn’t hold for long. Viktor was too strong a wizard for that. It would buy her time, though, and time was what she needed. 

Hermione cast every bolstering charm that she could think of. Reflexes. Strength. Senses. Anything to improve her chances. She did everything she could to make herself stronger than she was. 

Could Viktor breathe in there? She realised that she wasn’t sure. She was about ready to let him out when a section of the carpet burst into flames. Standing in the flames, unburnt, was Viktor Krum. 

He was back in the fight, and for the first time since the duel had begun, Viktor looked… grim. Even a little angry. His shoulders were hunched, and as he fixed his gaze on her, Hermione felt a thrill of fear run through her. 

Even with her enhancements, his wand-arm was a blur. Between them, the air trembled-

Darkness engulfed her, an abyss that swallowed her from head to toe. 

It burned. 

She’d never felt anything like it, but she was aware of movement. The blackness roiled around her. Seething, it gnawed at the skin of her face and her hands, and she had to swallow a scream. 

A darkness with teeth. 

Hermione wasn’t blind. She was trapped. If he sent another bolt at her, she’d have no way of defending against it. Hermione didn’t like being trapped, and she didn’t like being defenceless. 

She summoned up a hurricane. She weaved it together from the dregs of clean air she could muster up, from a Grand Tempest charm and the breath in her own lungs. 

She choked out. “ _ Tempestas maxima.” _

She sent the tempest roaring straight ahead and reduced the darkness to wisps that hung in the air between her and Viktor. Viktor, who was looking so absolutely shocked that she knew he hadn’t actually expected her to fight her way out of whatever magic he’d used against her. 

It was… reassuring. 

Her storm wasn’t done. The dark clouds hung in the air around them. Her wand hand snapped  _ out  _ and the storm coalesced, and she sent it screaming towards Viktor. 

If she were a better witch, she could have sent lightning bolts and snow from within the storm at him. As it was, the winds were all she could manage. He cried out and snapped a Silver Shield ahead of him  _ almost  _ in time. The storm snatched him up-

Viktor hit the shield-wall with a colossal  _ thud _ , and the slightest bit of worry for him crept in and weakened her resolve. He was on his feet in a heartbeat. Hermione gritted her teeth and  _ pushed  _ with everything she had, pinning him against the barrier with her winds. 

She bent the whole of her strength to it. She dropped all of her shields. She shut off the part of her mind that planned for a counterattack, trusting the winds to protect her. 

She was one wrong move, one wrong  _ thought _ , away from death. Summoning up a storm was one thing. Maintaining it was another. The exact balance required to give a tempest this small enough force to hurl Viktor backwards was something she couldn’t have imagined herself capable of. She simply did it. 

A thrill that went beyond excitement coursed through her. She was scoured clean. There was nowhere for fear to go. 

Viktor fought like a cornered wolf, which she supposed was exactly what he was. His hexes felt oddly frantic, cast in the moment between moments. Not planned, not strategic. Whatever wand movements the storm would allow him at any time. Stupifiys, _Reductos_ , empowered _Flipendos_. All dissipated before they could reach her. Once, the red fire of a hex fizzled out a mere ten feet from her, and she thought he heard him groan in despair. It was hard to hear anything over the wind. 

He shouldn’t have been able to do  _ anything.  _ Just staying upright should have been too much for him. Somehow, in the midst of the frantic struggle, Hermione made space for awe. 

Viktor strained and heaved against her. His titanic strength bowed against the pressure of her storm. He set his shoulders into the wind and staggered forward a single step, face twisted in superhuman effort. 

In the cacophony, she heard her wand  _ creak _ . 

She bore down on him again and again, pinning him against the golden light of the wall. Holding him back took everything she had. 

With every surge of the stormwall, the shield rang like a struck gong again and again until the blows came so close together that it became one continuous tone in her ears. 

Viktor and Hermione met eyes. 

Continuing would be dangerous. If the shield came down, the students would be at risk. 

She made a cutting motion in the air, and banished the storm. One moment it was there, the next it was simply gone. Her ears rang in the silence. Viktor straightened, bowed to her, and sheathed his wand inside his jacket. 

The moment she put her wand away, it was as if she’d let go of every fibre of strength in her body. Suddenly, she had nothing left. 

She bent over double, sucking in air. Her knees were shaking. 

As she pulled herself upright, her vision went dark for a moment. Her ears were ringing. When the dizziness abated, she saw that Lucius was starting the enchantments to drop the shield. The students were silent and open mouthed. 

The moment demanded that she say something, but she was just so  _ tired _ . 

She panted out. “Jesus, Viktor. Who taught you how to duel? Merlin?”

The Seeker laughed weakly. “I could ask you the same question, Hermione Granger.” 

She grinned fiercely, and staggered towards him. They shook hands, and the students burst into applause. 

She looked at Lucius. She couldn’t help it. He was clapping as well. He looked cool, composed, but she knew him well enough to see the pride in his eyes. The respect. 

Lucius thought she was a good duellist. Or, at least, a good fighter. That in itself was good enough for her. She was proud of herself as well, though. She’d fought well. She hadn’t done everything perfectly, but she’d adapted and kept her courage. She could ask for no more from herself. 

“Um.” Vanessa started. “That was- well, that’s not what you’ll be learning from us. At all.”

Daniel, alone of all the students, looked more horrified than impressed. “Rule number one; No trying to kill each other.” 

She, Lucius and Viktor meandered to one side of the room as Daniel and Vanessa took over. They had rules. They had expectations. They had  _ lesson plans.  _ Hermione couldn’t have been happier. 

Viktor left soon after. He said he had to be back in Bulgaria for dinner, but Hermione knew he was in pain. The way he pressed a hand to his ribs when no-one was looking was very telling. Hermione told him to go to the Infirmary, and when he refused, picked out a fourth year to escort him. He finally relented, gave them all a tired wave, and left. 

One of the Hufflepuffs stuck up her hand and asked Vanessa. “Will Professor Longbottom be coming along?”

“I think he’s a bit too busy raising his second child to be worrying about teaching us shielding charms in his spare time, Penny.” Vanessa replied wryly. 

“No, I meant Professor Augusta Longbottom. She’s Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor. Maybe she could teach us too?”

Daniel and Vanessa glanced at one another. “That’s an excellent idea.” Daniel said. “I’ll ask her, but whether she agrees is up to her. She’s got a lot on her plate already.”

Beside her, Lucius gave an approving little nod. She understood. He would be happy for any help he could get, if it meant he could spend more time with her.

Hermione glowed. The rest of the meeting went by in a flash. 

The students eagerness for duelling was sated enough by her fight with Krum that they barely even argued when Daniel told them they would only be practicing stances for the rest of the lesson. For the next forty minutes, the witch and the wizard watched the children learn, and teach, in pleased silence. 

The meeting was called to a close. Gradually, the room emptied. Vanessa and Daniel stayed until all the students’ questions had been answered, then left, promising to recharge the shields at midnight. Lucius moved to follow suit. 

“Stay.” Hermione said. They still had something left to do. Something she knew was very necessary, even if it might be hard. 

“In here?” Lucius frowned, looking about the room. “Leave recharging the shield to Mr Rosier and Miss Flint, Hermione. This is their responsibility, after all.”

She raised her wand. “Lucius, duel me.”

He froze, so profoundly startled that he couldn’t even reply. 

Hermione didn’t back down. 

This was something Lucius cared about. Something he’d been proud of. Duelling had been a huge part of his life, and he’d given it up at least in part because he didn’t believe in himself. She could understand that. He’d been wand-stripped, and imprisoned, and tortured. The war had left scars on him, just as it had on her. He’d turned down his chance to fight Krum because he thought he couldn’t handle it. 

Hermione wanted to help him. She wanted to show him how wrong he was about himself. Lucius Malfoy was an incredible wizard. 

“Lucius.” She said. “You can do this. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I’m asking you to duel me.”

Lucius’ gaze softened with memory. “Before… perhaps. But now… Hermione, it would be a farce. I can’t beat you.”

“And I can barely stand up.” Hermione said, laughing. She turned serious. “Lucius, I fought Krum because the students wanted me to. I’ll duel you because... I’d be honoured to do it. We’d have to be gentle with one another anyway, since the shields are weakened.”

Lucius stared at her for what felt like a very long time. She tried to project her trust in him. Her admiration. 

People could do incredible things, if only they had someone to believe in them. 

Lucius started to take off his coat, and her heart sang. He crossed the room to hang it over a practice dummy. Hermione climbed the steps to the platform once more feeling exhausted, sore, and totally at peace.

When he joined her on the duelling platform, it was with his wand in hand. He whipped the long, dark wood to the side and bowed to her. So quickly that Hermione was only barely able to return the gesture before he stood ready. 

A second went by, and Hermione realised they were both waiting. Waiting for someone to count down for them. 

Quietly, she asked, “Should I do it, or...?”

Lucius smiled a tight smile. “In these circumstances, both parties usually count down together. From three?”

That made sense. Hermione pulled in a breath, and nodded her assent. 

They began. A shiver ran over her. Pre-fight nerves, probably.

“One.”

Her body felt like a taut rubber band, ready to snap into action. She was fuelled by pure adrenaline at this point.

“Two.”

Lucius was completely still. Not stiff. Just… still. Like a cat in the moments before it pounced. Like a hawk hovering on an updraft. 

“Three.”

* * *

The fiery bolt leapt across the room and came close enough to warm the skin on her face before she expertly sheared the flame in half, sending it rushing past either side of her. 

Hermione blinked hard. She hadn’t seen it coming. She hadn’t seen his hands move at all, nor his lips move in an incantation. 

Was Lucius…?

He gave her no time to think. To analyse. Another bolt came at her, closely followed by a _Confundus_. She recognised the hexes by shape and colour only, and deflected them by the skin of her teeth. 

The urge to counter, to throw all she had at him, rose up in her. An instinctive part of her, however, knew that if she did that, she might as well just throw the duel now. She would lose the meager strength she had left if she were to give in to the temptation to bombard him, and knowing how good of a duellist he was, he would take full advantage of it. 

Fighting Lucius was like fighting a shadow. A shadow with the capacity to kill her, if she let it.

His movements were all but inscrutable. The movements of his wand were so subtle, so minimal, that it was hard to say what he was casting. Sometimes it looked as though he hadn’t moved at all. His magic was wordless. 

It was disconcerting, to say the least. She’d fought against enemies she hadn’t been able to see clearly. Who’d struck at her from behind corners. She’d fought against enemies who were smart enough to whisper their spells under their breath. Bellatrix, when she, Ginny and Cho had fought her, had occasionally cast without speaking at all. 

She’d never had to fight one who did a variation of _ both. _

Lucius had had the benefit of study, she realised. He knew her weaknesses, thanks to her duel with Krum. She didn’t know his. 

She didn’t have the strength for one of her full-body shields, so she settled for a _P_ _ rotego _ . She tore up a few chunks out of the ceiling and sent them hurtling down at him. 

Finally, a reaction she could understand. His eyes widened and he blasted the stones away, but not before a few small rocks struck him on the side of his face, leaving bloody streaks. Instinctively, his hand drew up to press against his cheek. 

It was his first mistake, and Hermione knew she had to make good on it. 

“ _ Expelliarmus _ !”

The charm was slower than it should have been. He deflected it, if only barely. Hermione resisted the urge to growl. She wouldn't get a chance like that again, and she’d used more magic than she could afford to spare. 

If she had been rested, she would have been stronger than him. Her knowledge was at least his equal. 

He whittled her down, spell after spell. His strikes were noticeably weaker than they would have been if he’d vocalised them, or if he’d done the wand movements to the extent that he should have. Given how tired she was, it didn’t matter. He was fresh, and she wasn’t. 

This wasn’t to say that she didn’t do well. She managed a sparkling hex that blinded him for long enough for her to pierce his shields and hit him with a  _ stupefy _ . It wasn’t strong enough to do much more than wind him, but it was a good strike nonetheless and she was proud of it. 

Pride didn’t mean she was stupid, though. Her _P_ _ rotego _ s were splintering almost as fast as she could make them. Soon she would have to use a lesser shield, and to do so, even against Lucius’ weaker spells, would be a mistake. 

Besides, she’d done what she wanted to do. At least, she hoped that she had. If this duel didn’t give Lucius some appreciation for his own abilities, she really didn’t know what could. 

“I yield.” She said. 

On his wand-tip, a hex fizzled away to nothing. Sounding really surprised, Lucius called out, “I beg your pardon?”

“I yield.” She repeated herself. “There’s no point in going on any more. Do I have to throw my wand down? I think I read that somewhere, but I really don’t want to.”

Lucius looked appalled at the idea. “No, dearest. There’s no need for that.” He lowered his wand and walked towards her, crossing the moon’s journey in easy strides. “If you’re certain, then I... I accept your surrender.” 

Hermione sighed in relief. “That’s good.” 

She took a deep breath, letting it strengthen her. She felt sore. Her arms and legs ached, a deep pounding pulse in time with her heartbeat. It was a strangely good feeling; the reward of hard work. 

Her hair was plastered to her neck in sweaty streaks. It should have felt disgusting. It didn’t. She felt… fantastic, actually. A little light-headed, perhaps, but there was something different about the moments after a fight. Not a fight to the death, obviously, but a fight to test yourself. A fight against friends, allies, or… 

Or lovers.

Hermione closed the space between them and threw her arms around his neck. She laid a kiss to the cheek she’d injured, soothing the skin there. He stiffened, but only for a moment before relaxing into her with a chuckle. 

“Hermione.” He said wryly. “Is this really the appropriate-?”

Lucius never got the chance to finish, because her lips found his. 

The kiss was molten. Languorous. She took her time, savouring every moment of her mouth against his. She fluttered her tongue against his lower lip for just a moment and the kiss deepened. Her head spun.

She nuzzled into him. Her hands slipped under his shirt to trace the muscles of his stomach. He had a little softness there. Not much, but a little. His build was so starkly different to every other man she’d ever been with. There was nothing boyish about him. He was all power, all maturity. It excited her. 

Lucius pulled back. 

She’d sensed this before. The very first night they’d kissed, up on the rooftop. And again, since then. He wanted her, that was indisputable. But for whatever reason, when things grew a little… heated… he would pull away. Slow the kiss down. Take her hands from around his neck, or his chest, and kiss them. All the thousand and one little signals that showed a lover that while, yes, the other party was having a lovely time, they weren’t ready to go further. Not just yet. 

Perhaps it was the fact that they could get discovered at any moment. Maybe he just wasn’t quite ready. Either way, his reasons didn’t matter. He didn’t want to go any further right now, and that was all she needed to know. 

She smothered the little pang of disappointment, and strangled the surge of animal instinct that tried to push her against him. She gave him another kiss, but this one was all tenderness, no fire. 

She took his hands in hers and gave them a squeeze. 

Admiring his blush, she said, “I had no idea you knew how to do that. Wordless magic, I mean. And that trick with your wand movements… that was really clever. I’ve never seen anyone do that.”

Lucius smirked. “I would certainly hope not. I haven’t spellcast in  _ that  _ way since I was a young man. After a few terms, everyone else at the Club knew to watch for it. I was hoping you had not heard the stories. Considering I was not soundly defeated, it would seem I was right.” 

A… school trick? That was how he had beaten her? A trick he’d learned fifty years ago?

“Lucius.” Hermione said, really amazed. “When was the last time you duelled?” 

“That night.” Lucius answered straight away. “In the Ministry.” 

All that time?? “Lucius, that was  _ years  _ ago. Are you saying you haven’t duelled since then? Haven’t done much offensive magic at all?”

“None, unless you include fighting off the dementors.”

He hadn’t practiced  _ at all? _ He had lived a purely academic life, using only the minimal amount of Charmwork that potioneering required, and not used any kind of defensive or aggressive magic? 

He’d pushed her  _ hard.  _ If she hadn’t ended the fight when she had, he might have really hurt her. If he hadn’t cared about her and had pressed his advantage right from the start, she thought he probably would have. 

Slowly, Hermione said, “Lucius, you’re amazing.”

Lucius scoffed, and she said it again, “No, really. I mean it. You’re  _ amazing. _ ”

His fingers traced her cheek, and he stared down at her in silence for a long moment. 

“Some day, Hermione, I will do for you what you do for me.” Lucius said. 

_ You’re already doing it, you big idiot.  _

Hermione hadn’t come to this school with any romantic intentions. This had just been another step in a greater plan for her future. If she’d found some friends along the way? Great. If not, that was fine too. That was all it was ever meant to be. 

And here he was. Giving her something she’d never planned on, but she found she needed all the same. Companionship. Actual, real companionship. It was actually incredible to think of what a difference it made, even during the most basic of exchanges. Knowing that they had one another to rely on. Knowing that she could share a bit of gossip she’d heard with him. Having his hand to hold under the staff table. His subtle winks at her in the corridor, returned by her significantly  _ less  _ subtle winks. 

It should have all just been a distraction. A drain on her mental faculties. It wasn’t. She felt  _ stronger.  _ Happier. More fulfilled. 

It was amazing. They could be amazing together. In that moment, tired and sweaty and more than a little bit aroused, she looked up at him and saw their potential. At least a little bit of it. She wanted it so badly she could barely breathe. 

She forced herself back to the matter at hand. 

“If we’d been duelling properly, when would I have been disqualified?” She asked. “Aside from the fact I didn’t bow at the same time as you, obviously. I know I should have done that.” 

Lucius didn’t even have to think. “You moved half a step to the right when I cast my  _ Confringo _ .”

She had? She hadn’t meant to. She’d known that moving any other direction than forwards or backwards was a disqualifiable offence in duelling. That was common knowledge. If she’d moved to the sides at all, it must have been subconsciously. 

Hermione trusted his judgement, though. If he said she’d moved illegally, she had. 

She doubted that that had been her only mistake. “What about after that?”

“Throwing the ceiling at me was an illegal move.” 

He said it without the slightest bit of condemnation. He wasn’t judging her. He was just answering her question. 

“It wasn’t the whole ceiling.” Hermione felt the need to say. “To be fair.”

Lucius chuckled. “And yet, dearest, it is very much  _ not done  _ in duelling.”

Hermione thought, in hindsight, that he probably had a point. 

“I can learn how to do it properly.” Hermione said. “I can learn how to duel, not just fight.”

“Hermione,” He said tenderly, “Why would you learn to duel? A mermaid might as well learn the backstroke. It would be a waste of your abilities.”

Hermione resisted the urge to toss her head. Honestly. Men could be so blind at times. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because the man I care about likes duelling?”

Lucius fell silent, and looked at her. That gaze that saw so much beneath the skin. 

“Hermione, you don’t need to be proficient at everything I enjoy. You do enough.” He reached out, and cupped her cheek. Hermione flinched. That  _ stung _ . 

Startled, Hermione said, “Ow.” And Lucius pulled his hand away, worry flickering in his eyes. 

As he pulled his hand away, a few flakes of skin came with it. Lucius’ mouth opened in an ‘ _ o _ ’ of horror, and Hermione felt a deep, gnawing itch start, just beneath her skin. 

“Oh, fuck.” Hermione said. 

* * *

By the time Lucius had got her to the first floor, it hurt to walk. Every now and then, out of a perverse fascination, Hermione would lift up her hands and  _ look _ . The skin of her hands looked oddly greasy, where it wasn’t peeling off. She couldn’t see the muscle beneath, though. Yet. 

Beside her, Lucius was fuming. 

“You  _ did  _ look flushed, but I thought it was only from exertion-”

“Lucius. It’s okay. I had no idea either. What magic  _ was  _ that that Krum used?” 

Lucius hesitated. When he spoke, he sounded disturbed. Worried. “I have seen Him use something similar, though Viktor’s was perhaps less agile, more virulent- It doesn’t matter. Pomfrey will know what to do.”

Hermione sagged against the wall. She was breathing hard. Not because she was really out of breath, but because her body was desperately trying to find a way to push past the pain to do what she needed to do and get her to the Infirmary. It wasn’t working. 

“I can’t.” Hermione said. Admitting that hurt almost as much as everything else did. It was also the truth. 

Lucius nodded, and floated her the rest of the way. 

* * *

Madame Pomfrey took one look at her and shook her head. 

“Your opponent is already here, Ms Granger.” She said, pointing to where Krum lay on another bed. “There, on the bed, please. I’ve heard all about your little duel, didn’t I tell Minerva it would come to no good? Sit down, Ms Granger. I’ll assess the damage.”

Hermione didn’t take Pomfrey’s scorn to heart. She was vocal of anything that could conceivably cause harm to anyone on school grounds. Quidditch, the Whomping Willow and apparently duelling. 

Hermione picked a free bed and sat down. Pomfrey flicked her wand to draw the curtain around to shield her from the occupied student beds. She tried to get comfortable. It wasn’t easy. Either she was more hurt than she’d thought, or she’d gotten spoiled by her four-poster teacher’s bed. 

Probably both. 

In the bed across from hers, Krum lay totally inert. The Seeker was terribly swollen with black and blue bruises, his arms and legs puffed up like tree trunks. His face wasn’t much better. 

Despite her aches and pains, Hermione felt a stab of sympathy for Krum. 

Lucius stood beside her bed, watching Poppy as she rattled a medicine trolley across the room to where Hermione lay. 

“Perhaps I may be of assistance.” Lucius offered smoothly. “I have a Regrowth potion brewed fresh last month, and a vial of Justinia’s-”

It was the wrong move. Hermione winced. 

Poppy put her hands on her hips, and Lucius realised that he was in trouble. 

The wizard put up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Ah, Madam-”

It was too late. The little old witch would not be placated. “I assure you, Mr Malfoy, that I am  _ more than capable  _ of administering to my patients without your oversight.”

“I never claimed-”

“Out! Out! Out!” She punctuated herself with a flap of her hands as she shoo’ed Lucius out of the door. The look he sent Hermione, towering over the shoulder of the Infirmary witch, was one of plaintive indignation. 

It was just too funny. Hermione laughed, and laughed. 

* * *

The Infirmary witch drew the curtains completely shut and checked Hermione over. 

It was all done with unaffected, professional efficiency. The kind that left no room for embarrassment, even if the situation should have been embarrassing. Hermione just felt comforted. Whatever it was, she was confident that Poppy could fix it. The Infirmary witch was one of the best in her field. 

Her assessment found what Hermione might have expected; a corrosive mist and quite nasty, but thankfully  _ not  _ a Cursed one. It wouldn’t be a quick recovery, at least not by magical standards, but nor would it be a particularly harrowing one. 

Her hands and face were the worst. This was not to say that the rest of her was uninjured, however. Viktor’s hex had snuck under her robes to scour the skin beneath as well. 

Madame Pomfrey filled a spray bottle with a sweet smelling, faintly green liquid and sprayed it over her. Apparently, the treatment would be repeated twice a day for the next few days before she’d be ready to leave the Infirmary. 

“I’m sure I can spray it over myself, Pomfrey.” Hermione said. “I’ve got classes to teach, after all.”

Pomfrey frowned. “I’m sure you could, Ms Granger. But  _ would you?  _ Or would you get caught up in your notes and homework and forget?”

Hermione couldn’t argue with that. 

Fifteen minutes later, Hermione was actually a little bit glad the Infirmary Witch had gotten rid of Lucius. The treatment was working; she’d felt better mere moments after it had misted over her skin. It wasn’t flattering in the slightest, though. She felt more like a snake than a girl; her skin scaly, flaking off in patches, and yet somehow glistening. She didn’t really want Lucius to see her like this. 

Still, at least she looked better than Krum. 

Poor Viktor ended up getting slathered up and down with a thick paste; despite his repeated objections that ‘a few bruises wouldn’t kill him’. Hermione sent him sympathetic glances, which he returned with various understanding and amused looks. Clearly he wasn’t offended by the situation he found himself in.

“I am sorry that you have ended up here,” Krum said once they were alone for a moment. “I did not mean to take you from your classes.”

Hermione gave him a slightly pained half smile. “It was educational, challenging, and dare I say  _ fun _ , duelling with you. I don’t regret it. If anything, the students have inspiration to work harder in their studies, knowing what they could achieve one day.”

He inclined his head in agreement, and Hermione could tell that he instantly regretted the movement, as it strained his swollen neck.

Then Pomfrey was back with more treatments, and their conversation was over.

* * *

Pomfrey had barely even sat down before Hermione had visitors. A male visitor, by the tenor of the voice. Hermione leaned as far as she could in the direction of the door, and eavesdropped. 

“No, Tiberius. Professor Granger needs rest. She’s not going to get rest with all you boys coming in here every ten seconds.” She heard Pomfrey say. 

“Dear Madam, will you at least allow me to give Hermione this? I have every reason to believe it will help Professor Granger in her- ah, her affliction.”

There was a quiet little moment, and Hermione frowned. What on earth was happening over there? What was he showing Poppy? 

When Madam Pomfrey spoke, her voice was very gentle. “It’s a bowl of grapes, Tiberius.” 

“Indeed. According to Muggle tradition, they’re a panacea, you see. My research shows that Muggles think they can cure maladies of any kind. I can’t say I see much truth in it, but I suppose one must try. No stone left unturned, and all that. Madam, I would not disturb you if it was not of the utmost importance. Professor Granger  _ must  _ eat these grapes.” 

She heard Poppy sigh. It wasn’t a sad sound, more… indulgent. 

“Alright, Tiberius. You have fifteen minutes.”

A moment later, Tiberius flicked her curtain open and let himself in. The polished Ravenclaw was looking very proud of himself. He was, indeed, holding a wooden bowl filled with grapes. 

After a heartfelt thanks, Hermione sat them down in her lap and started tucking in. 

Even if he’d somewhat misunderstood the concept of grapes as a gift, she was genuinely touched by the gesture. So much so that she didn’t really mind when she noticed that he was looking downwards and to the left, rather than directly at her. 

Poor Tiberius. He still couldn’t stand seeing people in pain. Still, he’d come. He’d tried his best. 

“Professor Granger! What has happened to you? Have you seen Lucius? The poor fellow’s out in the corridor. He wouldn’t say a word to me. Do you suppose he’s unwell?” 

“He’s totally fine, Tiberius.” Hermione explained. “He’s probably just sulking. Madame Pomfrey threw him out of the Infirmary. As for me, I was duelling.”

Tiberius’ eyes widened in interest, and then his wandering eye caught sight of Krum. 

“I say,” Tiberius exclaimed, “Is that young fellow quite alright? He looks as if he’s been sat on by a dragon.”

“Oh, Krum will be fine. I threw a storm at him.” This startled Tiberius so much that he finally looked directly at her, so she clarified, “Just a little one.” She pinched her thumb and forefinger together. 

“Oh dear.” Tiberius said, looking over to Krum again. “That must have been.. Well, I daresay it would have been quite grueling.”

“Trust me, Tiberius, he’ll be fine. It would take more than a hurricane to do him any real damage. Pomfrey says it’s worse than it looks.”

This was not a lie. Technically, Pomfrey had said that. She’d also been known to use those exact words to people who’d had their bones broken. Pomfrey had a different definition of ‘seriously injured’ than most people. A witch in her field often did. 

“Oh well, if Madam Pomfrey thinks so- but wait just a moment, it almost entirely slipped my mind-!”

Tiberius dug into his robes and brought out several books. The smallest was practically no more than a pamphlet. The largest was as thick as her hand was long. 

“I thought you could use something to read while you recover. In case the grapes weren’t entirely effective.”

She browsed through the books. Charms books mostly, though there were a couple of magical history books. In the midst of them all was a single sheet of paper on which Tiberius had scrawled down a few arithmantic problems. Exactly the sort of thing she’d need to keep her mind occupied while she recovered. 

Hermione squealed in delight. “Oh Tiberius, you’re a lifesaver.”

* * *

Minerva didn’t even say anything. She had a way of communicating without words. She did so now as she took in the extent of Hermione’s injuries, then Viktor’s, with a sour cast to her mouth and an eyebrow raised in condemnation. 

“I can explain.” Hermione said. In her mind’s eye, she was fifteen again, standing in front of Albus Dumbledore, trying to make justifications for something that Harry and Ron had done.

The Headmistress said, “Please do.”

Hermione looked over at Krum for support. The world-class Seeker, Triwizard competitor and expert fighter was currently pretending to be asleep. Right, then. She was on her own. 

_ The students asked me to fight him, so I did.  _

_ I was enjoying myself a bit too much and we both got carried away, but at least no-one died?  _

_ I hadn’t gone there with the intention of fighting him, it just sort of happened? _

None of it really painted her in a flattering light, so Hermione said nothing. 

Minerva saw that no explanation was forthcoming, and shook her head. “Professor Granger, this is a sad day. The best wizarding duel in years, or so I hear, and I was not there to see it?” 

“Headmistress?”

“I’m trying not to feel left out, since I’ve been told it was a spur of the moment decision, but even so. If you’re going to fight Bulgarian prodigies, Hermione, I expect at least a day’s notice.”

_ Oh, thank God.  _ “Yes, Headmistress.”

McGonagall turned to leave. “Hermione, dear?”

“Yes, Headmistress?”

“Win a little more conclusively next time, won’t you? So long as you are a Professor at this school, I expect no less. We have our pride to think about.” 

Hermione grinned. “Yes, Headmistress.”

* * *

Hermione was just getting ready to put aside her book and go to sleep when she noticed something very strange. 

There was a little owl at the end of her bed. 

This was peculiar for a variety of reasons. The first of them being that owls were, by order of Madam Pomfrey, absolutely  _ not  _ welcome in the Infirmary. The only thing the Infirmary witch hated more than her patients being disturbed was the particular kind of mess that owls made. The second was that Hermione hadn’t expected an owl at all, particularly at this time of night. 

Mostly, though, it was strange because Hermione hadn’t noticed the owl come in, and she  _ certainly  _ hadn’t noticed anything landing on her bed. 

For a moment, Hermione could only stare in confusion. The owl gave her a long slow blink of its dark, inhuman eyes. 

The bird was predominantly silver-grey, though ticked at regular intervals with brown feathers. It had no ear tufts and curved, wicked looking claws. The bird looked extremely well put together. Hermione found herself oddly reminded of Tiberius’ raven. 

Attached to its leg was a scroll of parchment and a parcel. Hermione took both, and the bird fluffed itself as though proud it had delivered its message.

Hermione recognized Lucius’ handwriting instantly.

_ Hermione,  _

_ In my concern for you, I have made a very foolish mistake. I have angered Poppy. She will not allow me anywhere near the Infirmary. Minerva will not intervene on my behalf. I have resorted, therefore, to underhanded tactics.  _

_ Her name is Hera. She is a pretty thing, but not to be underestimated. I reserve her for missions of the greatest delicacy. She is the stealthiest bird I have ever met, and conveniently smaller than most of her breed.  _

_ She is also ferocious. You will notice I have attached a parcel. In it are a few sheets of parchment, a quill and inkpot and a sealed box. Ignore the rest for now, dearest, and focus on the box. Inside it are Hera’s treats, which I would urge you to give to her as swiftly as possible.  _

Hermione blinked and looked up, to find that Lucius’ bird, Hera, was giving her a hard, unblinking stare. She unwrapped the little parcel, found the silver box and, after a moment’s hesitation, offered a grisly morsel to the bird. The bird gave her a frankly unimpressed look, and Hermione gave her the whole thing. The bird shredded the meat apart in economic, brutal motions, and Hermione was suddenly very glad that Lucius had thought ahead. 

She turned her attention back to the letter. 

_ Tiberius assures me you are recovering. It is of small comfort to me. Hermione, I hope you are not angry with me. If I had known you were injured, I would never have agreed to duel you.  _

_ Do not worry for Crookshanks and Atlas. They are being taken care of. Grubbly-Plank adores them both. Neville cares for the Singing Tree. As it turns out, our enthusiastic friend has a fine voice. I think you will be happy when you hear the progress he has made with your little seedling. Has Poppy told you when you can expect a full recovery? I hope it will be soon and that you are not in very much pain.  _

_ I await your reply.  _

_ Yours,  _

_ Lucius _

Hermione didn’t feel the least bit tired, all of a sudden. She scratched out a reply and secured it to Hera’s leg.

Lucius’ letter and parcel she kept. She wouldn’t risk the former getting wrinkled, so she folded it neatly and slipped it into the pocket of her coat from where it hung on the chair beside her. 

Hera swooped in and out of the Infirmary on silent wings. She had a way of sticking to the shadows that was absolutely incredible to watch. 

They talked all night, and Poppy was none the wiser. 

* * *

Hermione had been in the Infirmary for two days and was feeling much better. She was only getting sprayed down once a day now. Her weeping scabs had faded to an itchy rash. 

Krum had been good company. Hermione liked children, of course, but adult conversation went a long way. He’d offered to have the book he’d learned the corrosive hex from sent to her for, which she thought was really good of him. She was eager to give it a read and see exactly how it worked. When she’d asked, he’d conceded that the book was ‘not the sort you’d teach at Hogwarts.’ Dark magic, then. 

His own healing was going well and Pomfrey had told him hours ago that he was free to leave, but he was drawing it out so she wouldn’t be by herself. Pomfrey didn’t usually tolerate hangers-on, but Krum had managed it somehow. The Seeker had a way with people, Hermione had noticed. He was immovable without being aggressive. It made him very hard to say no to. 

Hermione was curious. “I’ve got to ask. Krum, you’re a fantastic fighter. Why don’t you go into Duelling? Eastern Europe has a team, don’t they? I’m sure they’d take you.”

“Hermione, I’m a Seeker. I’m a good duellist, but flying…” His eyes went out of focus for a moment, and he smiled wistfully. On his face, the expression was uncommonly serene. “It’s who I am. What about you?”

Hermione frowned. “What about me? Oh, why don’t I get into duelling professionally, you mean?” Krum nodded. “Well, for the opposite reason, I suppose. I think sometimes that fighting is who I am, but it’s not who I want to be. So I became an academic instead.”

Krum nodded as if that made sense. 

She wasn’t sure, sometimes, if the difference was as great as she liked to think. A lot of the spells she’d made could be used offensively, particularly by a creative person. It was enough for her, though. Enough for her to explore the things she was interested in without feeling guilty. Without hurting anyone. 

Hermione didn’t think she’d duel again. She didn’t like what it brought out in her. There had been moments, particularly in her fight with Viktor, where she had gone too far. 

_ Yet,  _ she thought to herself,  _ so did he. Perhaps that is simply the nature of duels. _

* * *

Four days after her duel with Krum, Hermione took her first steps outside of the Infirmary. Hermione flung her hands out to her sides and did a little twirl for joy.

She didn’t have so much as a scratch on her. 

She’d gotten well and truly sick of bed rest after the first day. She was so happy to be up and about again, and seeing something that  _ wasn’t  _ the inside of the Infirmary, that she felt better than she had before she’d been injured. 

The fact that one of the first things she was seeing was her gorgeous boyfriend certainly helped. 

Lucius’ lips curled in a smile. “It would seem you are fully recovered. I am glad, Hermione. I thought she would never release you.”

“I don’t think she had a lot of choice, Lucius. I was starting to get nervous. No-one likes a nervous Charms witch. I was about to start animating the pillows…” They set off down the hallway, and a wonderful idea came to her. Excitedly, she said, “Lucius, let’s go on a walk. Down to Hogsmeade? Or maybe to Neville and Hannah’s. What do you think?”

Lucius said, “Hermione, it is a little late to be going on walks. It is almost dinner time. And you know we can’t go to their house uninvited. It would be rude.”

“I suppose so.” Hermione agreed, but wasn’t happy about it. 

With a conspiratorial air, Lucius suggested, “I have an idea. Let us walk to the Great Hall together. Now, now, let me finish, Hermione. Poppy has told Minerva of your recovery. She has prepared a special dessert in your honour, as I understand.”

_ Dessert?  _

All ideas of long walks and incredible scenery left her mind. 

“What kind of dessert?” Hermione asked intently. 

Lucius’ forehead creased with effort as he tried to remember. “I believe… something called an ‘ice cream cake’. And ‘milkshakes’. I have never heard of such things in all my life. Why on earth would someone animate _milk_ of all things, I have no idea.”

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks for just a moment, before racing away at such a speed that even Lucius had a hard time keeping up. 

“Come  _ on _ , Lucius! If we don’t hurry up, there won’t be any left!”

“Hermione-! Slow down, it’s only food-”

She fumbled for his hand and started dragging him in her wake. She was half his size, but she could be very strong when she wanted to, and his startled gasp only made her grin wider. 

The hallways rang with their laughter. They reached the Great Hall to find that there was, indeed, plenty left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay WHAT DID YOU THINK? Action scenes are one of the very hardest things for me to write so this chapter was hard, but I'm really really proud of it. 
> 
> Thanks again to iheartloki, and I hope you enjoyed your duel, fellow mischief-maker!
> 
> I am really, really happy to introduce Hera to you all. I've left it vague, since Hermione isn't an ornithologist and wouldn't recognise this particular bird right away. Special brownie points to anyone who can guess what type of owl she is! I'll leave the answer in the end notes of next chapter anyway, with a special summary on each of our main character's animal companions so far! I know they're not exactly story-crucial, but I love them and it seems like you guys do too!
> 
> I just wanna give you guys a heads up; because this chapter was so long (13k or thereabouts, making it our longest chapter so far) and so challenging, I haven't been able to write a whole lot of the next chapter yet. Or the chapter after that. Next chapter is going to be more story focused than a lot of the chapters we've had thus far, so it needs to be perfect. Therefore, please don't be disappointed if the next few updates take longer than a fortnight. The result will be worth it. 
> 
> Thanks very much for reading and I really hope to update soon! Have a beautiful day and stay safe everyone!

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit of info on the story: This is a multi-chapter fic, which will end up being quite long. Some of you may notice is a first for me when it comes to this pairing, so I apologise if it's a little rough. I am aiming for weekly posts, but we'll see how that goes. Some of the chapters will be a bit fluffy, and most of them will probably be quite short; five thousand words or less. This fic will have heavy moments but isn't intended to be too 'meaty'. I want people to be able to come, read it, and have fun. 
> 
> I will let you know straight off the bat that this is a romance fic, and one day, waaaaaay off in the future, there will be sex scenes. They will be respectfully done, in such a way that the reader can skip them if they choose. I'm thinking of putting them in a separate chapter or something. 
> 
> Thank you so very much for reading, and please leave a review, even if you didn't like it! Criticism is definitely welcome and appreciated, particularly if you can give suggestions for improvements.
> 
> Any questions, whatever, go ahead and ask! See you next week.... hopefully!


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